


For God and Country

by romanticalgirl



Series: Life on the Streets [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Canon-Typical Violence, Graphic Description of Corpses, Homicide, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, referenced past suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 06:32:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10916277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: A case lands at Bucky's feet and he has to solve a series of murders, all the while trying not to fall for the most likely suspect.





	For God and Country

(what Steve looks like in this fic: http://romanticalgirl.tumblr.com/post/158418529164/chrisxchrisxchris-chris-evans-for-esquire-april)  
(what Bucky looks like: https://pbs.twimg.com/media/C8P9KjsUwAE5kCp.jpg:large)

It was not, Bucky realized, going to be a normal day.

Oh, it started out like it would. Breakfast while reading the news on his phone, ride into work with roughly a thousand other people in the same train car with him, coffee from the street vendor already made to Bucky’s specifications, a flirtatious smile from the girl at the flower stand. All normal. All exactly what Bucky expected.

What he didn’t expect was the dead body falling on the ground right in front of him.

**

“You look like shit, Sarge.”

“Don’t call me that.” Bucky squats down and looks the body over as Sam and Riley try to push away all the gawkers.

“Hey, this isn’t the Good Morning America set!” Riley snaps. “Put your cameras away or you’ll be charged with impeding a police investigation.”

A few of the tourists slink off, but several remain. The New Yorkers just keep walking. Bucky’s never going to get over their ability to do that. Just not see what’s right in front of them if they don’t want to. He’s never been able to, which was probably why he is balancing on the balls of his feet, looking down at a mostly intact body, a completely destroyed head, stuff on the pants of his best suit he does _not_ want to think about, and coffee spilled down his shirt.

The medical examiner and photographers show up, so Bucky stands up and takes a step back to let them work. Natasha comes out of the building with a slight shake of her head, and Bucky sighs. Not the response he was hoping for. She walks over to him and wrinkles her nose. “I hope you’ve got a change of clothes at the station.”

“I hope so too, because otherwise I’m going to have to sit at my desk in my boxers because I’m not wearing these pants again. Ever.”

“Aw, you’ll look cute. I bet they have little teddy bears on them.”

“You.” He points at her and shakes his head. “No.”

She grins at him, completely immune to his actual threats, so vague ones don’t bother her at all. “You want to come take a look?”

Bucky nods and leaves Sam and Riley in charge as he follows Natasha into the hotel room. There’s no glass in the window and Bucky stares down at the scene below. “We’re sure this is the room?”

“Bruce triangulated from the information you gave him and the pictures you sent.”

Bucky nods, because he trusts Bruce more than any instrument. “No ID on the body. Once we identify him, we can ask the hotel staff if they recognize him. Let’s do some research into the hotel and the staff. Put Stark on that.”

“He’ll complain you’re not giving him a challenge.”

“Tell him if he wants a challenge he can get the blood and brains out of my slacks.” Bucky blows out a breath. “I’m heading to the station to change. Tell Clint to let me know when he’s got something.”

“You act like they listen to me.”

Bucky smirks at her. “You act like they listen to me.”

**

Bucky lets another officer put his slacks in an evidence bag, both of them signing off on the tag. No one actually anticipates that they’ll be needed, but enough cases have been destroyed by mishandling of evidence that Bucky’s taking no chances. The only thing he has in his locker are his workout clothes, so he goes back up to the detective floor in his sweats and a faded Army t-shirt. Everyone at the station has seen and stared at his prosthetic, so he’s not self-conscious about walking around in short sleeves, but he carries his suit jacket with him just in case someone else gets ill at ease.

He knows there isn’t going to be any information anytime soon, so he looks into a few of his other cases, trying hard not to look up at the board. There’s not much red under his name, and there’s hardly any under Natasha’s. It’d be annoying how good she is, but she keeps the whole squad’s clearance rate up there, so it’s hard to be pissed. It also makes them all work a little harder, which is never bad.

“Is that the new uniform?”

Bucky flips Stark off without looking up; then, as soon as he’s close enough to Bucky’s desk, Bucky reaches out and snags the coffee out of his hand. “You’re a good man, Tony Stark.”

“You’re an asshole, Sarge.”

“You all need to stop calling me that.” Bucky takes a drink and makes a face, handing the cup back to Tony. “How do you drink that?”

“I add booze.” Tony takes a drink and grins at him. “Manager sent over a list of employees and guests. Uniforms are questioning people, trying to keep everything calm. Paper’s are all over it. Vultures with cameras.”

“What else do we have?”

“I’ve got background scans running now. Apparently there’s been a company doing some renovation on that floor. We’re working on getting those records as well. Body’s at the morgue now.”

“Thanks.” Bucky sighs and rubs his face with his hands. “You have no idea how glad I am that I didn’t have much for breakfast. I’d hate to have to listen to Clint bitch about my vomit in his crime scene.”

“Two great tastes that... Yeah. Never mind.” Tony takes another drink of his coffee and heads back to his desk and bank of three monitors. Natasha sits down opposite Bucky and kicks her feet up on her desk.

“Three buildings have surveillance cameras, and we’ve got two traffic cams. I’m not sure they’ll give us much, since we’re starting from a couple stories up, but we might find something. Traffic cams aren’t a problem, and I’ve got requests in for the others. If they play hardball, we’ll get warrants. Pretty sure the press will raise enough of a stink to get a judge to sign off if we need it.”

There’s the squeak of the pen on the whiteboard and John Doe goes up under Bucky’s name. He hates John Does. They all do. “Okay. So we’ve got a body, no name, no motive, nothing that proves it wasn’t an accident except the room was supposed to be empty and this guy’s obviously not from the renovation crew unless they’re dressing much better these days.”

“Better than you are right now.” She rubs the back of her neck. “Happy Monday.”

**

Clint calls him and he and Natasha head down to the morgue. Natasha tugs her leather jacket a little tighter around her, since it’s at least fifteen degrees cooler down there, and Bucky knows he looks ridiculous with his suit jacket on, but he’ll sacrifice his fashion sense to keep his teeth from chattering. Clint looks up from his clipboard when they come in.

“I think I might swear off pizza for a while.”

“You are physically incapable of swearing off pizza,” Natasha informs him.

“Yeah, wait until you see this guy’s face.” He leads them to a table and the corpse. Natasha’s mouth twitches, but that’s the only outward reaction.

Bucky curses under his breath. “Jesus Christ.”

The face is non-existent; flattened and a mess of blood and flesh and bone. Clint gestures with a metal rod. “Severe cranial and spinal fractures from impact, but the fall wouldn’t have caused this amount of facial damage. It’s premortem. There’s bruising along the edges of the face, which indicates someone hit the shit out of him before they tossed him out a window. His brain bounced around in his head and eventually onto the sidewalk... and your pants, I guess, upon landing. Fractures in the vertebral column and severed spinal cord. Given the state he’d be in if he’d lived...” Clint shakes his head. “I can’t be sure yet, but I’d wager he was dead before he hit the ground.”

“Why did we go into this field?” Bucky murmurs under his breath.

“Somebody had to,” Natasha replies. “How long until the autopsy’s done?”

“One more case before him. I’ve got some help today though, so I’ll either get to it tonight or tomorrow. Answers as soon as I can get them to you.”

“Thanks, Clint.” Bucky sighs. “Okay. Let’s get back to work.”

**

Riley and Sam come in a few minutes after Natasha and Bucky get back. They drop the food off at everyone’s desks, then pull up chairs. Bucky’s not hungry until he smells pastrami, and he digs his sandwich out with a grunt of thanks. Riley hands him a can of soda then flips open his notebook. “The sum total of our answers we got today is ‘nobody saw nothing’.”

Natasha smirks. “Well, what a change from the norm.”

“We couldn’t get hold of the renovation team, but we’ve got a call into them and I guess they’re due to be there tomorrow. You want us to question them or you gonna take it over, Sarge?”

“Stop calling me that.” Bucky pulls a piece of pastrami from his sandwich and chews on it, licking mustard off his lips when he’s done swallowing. “You go ahead, Riley, but I want to be there and watch. If these guys are working there, chances are they’ve seen something. We’ll see what kind of impression we both get.”

“Mr. Wizard over there got anything yet?”

“I can hear you,” Tony calls out, even though they know he’s got music blasting through his headphones.

“How does he do that?”

“I don’t want to know how Tony does anything.” Bucky crumples his sandwich wrapper and tosses it in the trash. “I don’t suppose anyone did my paperwork while I was working, did they?” Riley and Sam both roll their chairs away and Natasha just lifts an eyebrow. “Right. Well. Just when I thought the day couldn’t get any better.”

**

Bucky and Riley walk into the hotel the next morning, glancing around. The restaurant is full, with several people at the windows looking out onto the sidewalk for some trace of blood like it’s New York’s latest attraction. Bucky shakes his head and turns away, heading toward the reception desk.

The manager is standing there, slightly sweaty and obviously nervous. “Detectives. Hello. I... Well, he’s upstairs.”

“He?” Bucky asks.

“The renovation man.”

“Man?”

“Yes. Rogers Renovation and Construction.”

“One guy.”

“Well, he may have a crew? I’ve only ever seen him.”

“Where is he?”

“The room at the opposite end of the hall from... Er, well. The, um.”

“Right. Thanks.” Bucky and Riley head for the elevator, getting off at the tenth floor. They walk down the hallway to the turn, pushing aside a curtain of Visqueen. Bucky nods to Riley and they move to opposite sides of the hall. They’re far enough away from the crime scene that the area isn’t cordoned off. The head toward the open door of a room, the sound of a saw getting louder as they go.

They stop at the door and Bucky sizes up the room and the renovation guy. He’s at the saw and about Bucky’s size, wearing a baseball cap, a set of brown coveralls, safety goggles, headphones, a breathing mask, and a whole lot of sawdust and drywall dust. Bucky covers his mouth with his sleeve and waits until the sawing stops to walk into the room.

He raps on the door as he walks past, but between the headphones and the whistling the guy’s doing, Bucky can tell he can’t hear him. He moves deeper into the room and waves a hand in the guy’s peripheral vision.

“Jesus.” The guy steps back, hitting his heel on a 2x4 and nearly falling backward, catching himself just before he goes down. He tugs his headphones off and glares at Bucky. “What the hell? This area’s off limits.”

“Not to me.” Bucky shows him his badge.

“Shit.” The guy tugs his cap off, then pulls his mask down. Bucky swallows hard and looks at him. He’s bigger than Bucky thought at first, a few inches taller and broader than Bucky himself. His hair is a dirty blond and he’s got the beginnings of a beard, and his blue eyes are penetrating.

Jesus. “I’m Detective James Barnes. This is Detective Riley Peterson.”

“Oh. I. Um.” He runs a hand over his hair and musses it then looks around the room before his eyes go back to Bucky’s. “I’m Steve. Steve Rogers. I... Well, I’d say nice to meet you, but I get a feeling it’s not nice. Or not going to be nice.”

“We’d just like to talk with you for a few minutes.”

“Right. Of course. Why?”

Bucky glances in Riley’s direction quickly, then back at Rogers. “We’re hoping you can answer a few questions for us. Why don’t we go somewhere less dusty.” It seems better than saying Bucky and Riley have no intention of being in a room with him, a circular saw, a reciprocating saw, a drill, and a couple of claw hammers while asking him about a murder.

“Yeah. There’s a couple of rooms I haven’t started on. Just down the hall.” Steve leads them into the hallway in the opposite direction of the crime scene. Riley glances at Bucky, but Bucky shakes his head. Steve leads them into a room two doors down from the one they’d found him in. There’s a folding table covered in room schematics, a folding chair, two sets of sawhorses, several open bags of wire, and other things Bucky doesn’t recognize.

“Were you working here yesterday, Mr. Rogers?” Bucky realizes what he said and bites back a smile. Steve rolls his eyes.

“No. It was a beautiful day in a different neighborhood.”

“You’re in the midst of this and still doing other jobs? The manager seemed to think you’re a one-man operation.”

“I am. And it wasn’t another job. I was helping a friend.” Steve unzips his coveralls to his waist, and his red t-shirt is clinging to him with sweat. “Mr. Pierce asked me to work exclusively for him during this project. Not that I have any time for anything else. Six rooms completely gutted and redone, redecorated.”

“And you work alone?” Bucky asks.

“That’s what one-man usually means, yes.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows, but this time he does manage to keep his smile in check. “I assume you’ve heard what happened here yesterday.”

Steve’s jaw twitches and Bucky makes a mental note of it. “Well, I didn’t until I got here this morning and found out one of the rooms on my schedule was off-limits.”

“What were you doing yesterday?”

“I’m sorry, is this an interrogation?”

“Not at all, Mr. Rogers. We’re just asking a few questions. Determining if you might have seen anything.”

“I already told you I wasn’t here.”

“Where were you?”

“Not. Here.” Steve crosses his arms over his chest.

Bucky nods and tries another tactic. “Have you noticed anyone around while you’ve been doing your renovations? People who shouldn’t be in this area of the hotel?”

“The only people who come through here are Mr. Pierce and a couple of his employees, and even that doesn’t happen often. Mostly it’s just me.”

“So there’s no one to corroborate that?”

“You mean there’s no one to tell you I’m alone?” Bucky can sense Steve’s tension ratcheting up and wants to kick himself for how stupid he just sounded. The narrowing of Steve’s blue eyes makes it clear he’s about five seconds from throwing a metaphorical wrench in Bucky’s plans. Maybe ten seconds from using an actual wrench. “No. There’s not. I wasn’t aware I needed an alibi to do my job.”

“All right. Well.” Bucky reaches a hand out toward Steve who looks at it, then back up at Bucky. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Rogers.” Bucky withdraws his hand and manages a smile almost as tight as Steve’s own. “We’ll most likely be back in touch.”

“Lucky me.”

**

Riley whistles low as he and Bucky walk to the crime scene. “That is not a man I want to fuck with.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, he can probably bench press this whole building and he looks like he’s got enough anger in him to do it.”

“Enough anger to beat someone’s face in before tossing them out a window?”

Riley shrugs. “I don’t know. Most vets aren’t super keen on killing when they get back.”

“Vet?”

Nodding, Riley touches his throat. “Dog tags under his t-shirt. I assume they’re his. He’s got the look.”

“Could belong to a wife. Girlfriend. Boyfriend. Husband.”

“I don’t know, Sarge. He looks haunted.”

Bucky hums as they get to the crime scene. He walks the perimeter of the room and shakes his head. There’s barely any blood, but there’s plastic on the floor. It doesn’t look fresh, but even If it were, Bucky thinks it’d still feel like is off, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. “Get Natasha a photo of Rogers. See if she can see him on the camera feeds.”

“Oh, she’s gonna love that.”

“She will if he’s our guy. Find out his schedule. I want to make sure we’ve got uniforms here when he’s here. Also find out what kind of access he has. I assume he’s got keys to all of the rooms he’s working on. Find out everything about this guy and this job.”

“Got a feeling.” It’s not a question, but Bucky nods. Riley closes his notebook and starts for the door. “Okay. I’ll get on it.”

“Riley.”

“Yeah?” He turns around and Bucky looks at him. “I want the information on Rogers first.”

**

Bucky rubs his eyes, then laces his fingers together, raising his arms over his head in a stretch. His left shoulder protests, but he stretches from side to side regardless, trying to work the kinks out of his neck and back. “You think the department would pay for a masseuse?”

Natasha flicks a crumpled up Post-it at him. “The department won’t pay for _coffee_. Which, by the way, it’s your turn to buy.”

“Didn’t I buy last week?”

“No.” She holds up a book and opens it to the front page, which is a very detailed and colorful graph of coffee responsibility.

“You’re frightening.”

“I know.” She smiles and drops the book back on her desk. “Do we have anything?”

“No.” He shoves a pile of paper away from him and stretches his right hand down his back, using the left to hold it, to stretch the tricep. “Riley and Sam caught a case, so I’m going to have to do some more legwork. Have we heard from Clint?”

“No. He got hit with the five-car pileup and the arson on 59th.”

“Shit.” Bucky releases his arm and lets it fall back to his desk. “Did you have a chance to go through the camera footage?”

“Yeah. Tony’s working on facial recognition, and Bruce is still going through the footage in case I missed anything.” Her dry tone making it clear that she knows she didn’t. “We’re trying to figure out when our guy went in, assuming he went in the front door.”

“No cameras on any of the other doors?”

“Nope.” She pops the last syllable and then folds her hands on her desk and rests her chin on them. “Riley told me you might have a suspect?”

“We have a person of interest. Maybe. I’m waiting on a file from the DOD.”

“DOD?”

“The Department of--”

“I know what the fuck the DOD is, asshole.” Natasha kicks his foot under the desk. “How are you getting a file from them?”

“Well, Tony...”

“Say no more. Please. I don’t want to be an accessory.” She shakes her head, not lifting her chin. “You think this guy might be involved?”

“I don’t know. There’s something strange going on. And a single guy renovating a bunch of rooms, one of which a murder was committed in, seems a little weird to me. And, if the guy was killed in that room, where are the blood spatters? Where is any evidence? And since it’s not there, where is it?”

“In a bunch of renovation trash?”

“Can’t rule it out.”

Natasha blows out a breath. “Riley said he was hot.”

“I didn’t notice.”

“Riley noticed. He said, and I quote, ‘Nat, you would have crawled inside those coveralls with him and.--’, well, then he tried to make some sort of renovation innuendo, but it really didn’t work.”

“I’m so glad we’re all professionals here.”

“Absolutely.” She stands up and grabs her jacket off the back of her chair. “We’re all gathering at Carter’s. Come have a beer with us, Sarge.”

“Stop calling me that. I am no longer Sarge.”

“You’ll always be Sarge.” She tilts her head toward the door. “C’mon.”

“Yeah, yeah. Twist my arm.”

**

There’s a file note on Bucky’s desk with an arrow pointed toward Tony. Rolling his eyes, Bucky leaves his jacket on the back of his chair, then heads over to the corner of the room.

“Ah-ah.” Tony shakes his head. “What’s the password?”

“Give me my information or you’re the next guy going out the window?”

“Compelling, but wrong.” Tony taps his keyboard and brings up a file. “Your boy Steve-o is quite the quality beach reading. And watching.”

“Tony.”

“Right, right. Okay. Captain Steven Grant Rogers. Officially served in Afghanistan and Iraq. There are rumors of some covert operations, but I can’t find any indication of him being a Ranger. And I’m very good at what I do. Plus I have his sealed file. Which is really a misnomer, because it’s on a computer, and nothing is sealed if you’re good at what you do. Which I am.”

“Yes, you're very smart. Go on.”

“Anyway, his unit got captured and he got them out. They were escaping when the building blew behind them. Two of his guys were killed right off the bat. Three ended up medevaced out; one of them died. One of them isn’t ever leaving the hospital, and the other has a severed spinal cord and is confined to a wheelchair. It’s pretty fucked up.”

“And Rogers?”

“Poor fucker got out unscathed.”

“How does that make _him_ the poor fucker?”

Tony looks at Bucky’s arm then back at the screen. There’s a picture of Rogers, and he looks broken. Bucky’s familiar with the look. He’s seen it in the mirror more than once. “Survivor’s guilt. He went on a bunch of crazy-ass missions after that. Charged in like a buffalo. His superiors wanted to ship him home because he was basically trying to suicide, but the even-higher-ups wanted him out there.”

“When did he come home?”

“Two years ago. Army used him to do some promotional shit, and _that_ went over like a lead balloon. He punched his commanding officer in the face and got arrested, but he was getting a medal and his guys were getting Purple Hearts, so they didn’t hold him there. They gave him an honorable discharge and pretty much washed their hands of him.”

“And since then?”

“Well, he spent a month in a psych ward at the VA Hospital after he tried to kill himself. Neighbor found him slumped on his couch with his service pistol in his lap. She’d heard him shooting and headed over _without_ calling the police, because apparently she knows Steve and he would never hurt a fly. He’d shot up all his mirrors, shot through his medals, and still had a bullet left.”

“Shit.”

“Then he started his little handyman business and since then he hasn’t even gotten a parking ticket.”

“But he’s got some anger issues. And some serious PTSD.”

“You guys are a match made in heaven, Sarge.”

“I hate you so much.” He nods at Tony’s screen. “Send that to me?”

“Thanks, Tony. I appreciate how hard you work, Tony.”

“They pay you to thank you for doing your job. Surely that’s enough.” He heads back to his desk and pulls up Rogers’s file. He pages through the photos, from his buzz cut in basic to his shaggy hair and full beard in the photos of him sitting next to his men in the hospital unit. His hands are buried in his hair and his head is bowed. Bucky wonders if he’s praying or realizing that it doesn’t do any damn good.

“Nat, I’m going out for a bit.” He snags his jacket off his chair and tugs it on as she looks up.

“You need backup?”

“Nah. Clearing my head.” He takes the stairs rather than the elevator to the ground floor and walks outside. They sky is gray and the rain is spitting down. Bucky flips up his collar and heads down the sidewalk to the hotel. He’s well aware it’s a bad idea, but he also knows to go with his gut. And his gut tells him he needs to talk to Steve Rogers again.

**

Instead of a saw, he hears hammering this time. It’s interwoven with whistling, but Bucky can’t figure out what song it is. He goes back to the room they’d found Steve in and knocks on the doorframe. Steve glances over his shoulder and sighs.

“Detective.”

“Mr. Rogers.”

“Just call me Steve.” He crosses his arms over his chest, hammer still in one hand. “What can I do for you? Do you need to know where I was when JFK was shot?”

“Well, if you were alive, you look damn good for your age.” Bucky leans against the wood frame and copies Steve’s posture. “What were you doing?”

“Fixing the wall.”

“The other day. The day our mystery man took a header.”

“Black humor. Very nice.” Steve holds Bucky’s gaze for a long time, then looks away. “I had an appointment.”

“Where?”

“Am I a suspect?”

“Until I know who this guy is, why he was killed, and who did it, everyone in this goddamned building is a suspect. Everyone in the city is a suspect. So where were you?”

Steve sets the hammer down and unzips his coveralls. Bucky straightens, tensing. “Just getting my wallet, okay?” He pulls it out and holds both hands up. “Maria Hill.” He takes out a card and hands it to Bucky. “She’s my shrink.”

“Of course. And HIPAA laws and doctor-patient confidentiality keeps me from knowing if any of that is true. Very nice.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t actually planning on having a verifiable alibi, because I didn’t realize I _needed an alibi_.” Steve sighs. “Look. I didn’t kill the guy. I didn’t push anyone out a window. All I do is fix the rooms to Mr. Pierce’s specifications. As far as I know, no one else has been in this area until your guys came in. Okay?”

“Of course. I believe you.”

“No you don’t. It’s not your job to believe me. It’s your job to assume I’m lying. Which is funny, given that most of the lying comes straight from local and federal agencies. Like police departments.” Steve tucks his wallet back inside his coveralls. “I have a lot of work to do. Do me a favor and, next time you feel like questioning me, just take me down to the station. I think that’s an excusable work absence.”

**

“This tastes terrible.”

“It was in the morgue freezer.” Clint stabs his chopsticks into the carry-out carton. “Probably smells bad too.”

“Dead men eat no rice.” Natasha sucks a noodle between her lips. “What have you got?”

“We got an ID from dental records and, miracle of miracles, a partial print. Well, the print’s inconclusive but unless someone put a different set of teeth in the guy, our vic is Jasper Sitwell.”

“And do we know who that is?”

“Hey, my job here is done.” Clint crunches his way through a water chestnut. “Except for the part where I tell you that not only did he not die from the fall, he did not die from the beating he took.”

“And what, Alex Trebek, did he die of?” Natasha reaches over with her chopsticks and steals a pea pod from Clint’s box.

“Broken neck. Some of the fractures weren’t consistent with his landing. Contusions on the back of his neck are consistent with someone snapping it. Whoever he was, Mr. Sitwell seriously pissed off someone very strong.”

“Steve Rogers?” Natasha asks.

“Let’s see if we can find a connection before we ask him if there is one. It’ll be interesting to find out if both answers are the same.”

**

“Mr. Sitwell?” The hotel manager’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head. “Oh. That’s terrible. That’s awful.”

“So you know him.”

“Of course. He’s Mr. Pierce’s assistant. He works here in the New York office. Mr. Pierce is in Tokyo right now, so Mr. Sitwell is handling all his New York business.”

“Such as communicating with a contractor?”

“Well, I doubt he’d actually...” His eyes widen further. “Mr. Rogers killed him?”

“I’m just trying to find out what Mr. Sitwell’s duties were. Why he might be here at the hotel. Why someone might be angry with him.”

“Oh, well. His secretary would be able to help you with that. He’s only here occasionally, but I can look and... And I can look at the information we have and see what he was working on here that day.”

“Why don’t we look at that now?”

“Of course.” He leads the way down a long hallway to a series of offices. He hesitates at the one on the end, a frown marring his forehead. “This is, um, Mr. Sitwell’s office. Perhaps I should contact Mr. Pierce and make sure this is okay.”

“I’m simply trying to find out what Mr. Sitwell was working on that might have made someone angry enough to kill him. You’re more than welcome to stay here with me.”

“Of course. Of course. I’m sorry.” He unlocks the door and opens it, gasping and falling back as it swings into the room. Bucky puts his arm across the doorframe on instinct to keep him from moving forward. “Mr. Jackson. Jackson, isn’t it?”

He nods mutely, his eyes wide and scared. “Which of these offices is yours?”

“The...” He points down the hallway as if in answer, and Bucky nods.

“I need you to go down to your office and sit in there. Call your front desk and tell them to direct the officers back here. I need you to stay calm, and I need them to stay calm. Understood?”

He nods, but it’s clear he’s not processing much of what Bucky’s saying. He does manage to stagger down the hall to one of the other offices, and Bucky rubs his forehead with his fingertips before digging for his phone.

**

“Holy shit.” Natasha looks around the room. “Office or abattoir?”

“At this point, I’m gonna go with both.” Bucky steps back as another technician enters the room. “There’s a lot of blood.”

“Noticed that too, did you?”

“I am a paid professional.” He gives her a grim smile. “Not _well_ paid, mind you.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Bucky shakes his head. “Too much blood, so the next question is where it’s from. Is it synthetic? Human? Animal? Do we have someone running around and slaughtering animals to exsanguinate them so they can use their blood as a forensic countermeasure?”

“Is more than one person dead?”

“Is someone trying to frame hotel staff?”

“Or a renovator.” Natasha smiles, showing her teeth. “I want to meet this guy.”

“To see if Riley’s right?”

“Well, it never hurts to be prepared. Just in case he’s innocent.”

Bucky laughs and nods to the head technician before he leads Natasha back into the lobby. They bypass the main desk to head for the elevator, ignoring the looks of the hotel staff as they stare after the two of them.

“Okay, man to man, Sarge.”

“You may have more balls than most of the guys I know, but you’re still not a man, Nat.”

“Fine. Man to woman, Sarge. I got Riley’s view on what he thinks a woman likes. I want yours.”

“I have no idea what women like.”

She slaps his arm. “You know what I mean.”

“You want to know if he’s my type? Or you want to know in general if Riley’s assessment is correct?” Bucky can’t help smirking as her eyes flash. “Okay, okay. Objectively, yes. He’s good looking.”

“Objectively.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I refuse to embellish my answer. You’ll see for yourself soon enough.” She sticks her tongue out at him as the elevator stops. It’s quiet as they walk, then Bucky hears the familiar sound of whistling.

“Oh, that’s not creepy at all. He’s like his own horror-movie soundtrack.”

“Careful. The man has power tools.” Bucky stops outside the room he’d seen Rogers in the day before. He’s there again, this time with his coveralls unzipped and hanging off his hips. His t-shirt is blue today and Bucky nearly misses a stride with the visual.

“Yes. Objectively,” Natasha whispers.

“Mr. Rogers.”

“Oh, good. Detective Barnes.” Steve’s voice is saccharine sweet. “And here I was worried I wouldn’t get a visit today. I appreciate you not letting me feel neglected.”

“Yes, well. Murder makes me want to keep up with my social engagements. This is my partner, Detective Romanov.”

He pulls off one of his leather gloves and extends his hand to Natasha. Bucky watches, his eyes mapping the broad hand, the pale hairs, the strong grip. Jesus. Steve’s voice is much more pleasant when he speaks to Natasha. “Detective. Here for a round of ‘meet the suspect’?”

“I’m sure that Detective Barnes has told you that we don’t have any suspects yet. Just persons of interest.”

“Well, that makes me feel much better to know I’m just interesting and not necessarily murderous.”

“I spend most of my day assuming everyone is murderous.” She shrugs a shoulder and smiles at him. “Don’t think you’re special.”

“I wouldn’t dare presume.” Steve exhales. “So. I’m guessing this isn’t just a social call.”

“You’re up here in an area all by yourself. An area where a dead body just happened to fall from a window. You can understand our interest, surely.”

“Interest, yes. Daily visits from your friend here, less so.”

“Oh, he’s not my friend. He’s my partner. Completely different.” Natasha grins and Bucky rolls his eyes. “Would you like to talk to us here? We just have a few questions.”

“If I answer them, will you please leave me alone to finish my work?”

“Depends on the answers.” Natasha leans against the wall. “Did you know Jasper Sitwell?”

“No. I only I dealt with him when he contacted me about the job and was Pierce’s representative when he gave me the contract to sign” Steve shakes his head. “Is… Oh. It was… He? God. I...I wish I could help, but I haven’t seen him since then.”

“And when was that?”

“I’ve been here for two weeks.”

“You didn’t know Mr. Sitwell prior to that?”

“No.”

“How did they come to contract with your company?” Natasha frowns at Bucky’s interruption. “You’re a small business. Big hotels aren’t in the habit of finding one-man operations for major renovations.”

“I’m good at what I do.”

“I’m not saying you aren’t. I’m saying that you’re an odd choice for this job.” He sees a hint of whatever anger Steve has banked inside him flash in his eyes, but then Steve nods and it’s gone.

“Yeah. I was surprised, but they told me one of my previous clients knew Mr. Pierce and suggested me for the job. It’s not a huge job – just about ten rooms – and I imagine I’m a hell of a lot cheaper than a larger operation.”

“But wouldn’t a quicker turn-around still be more advantageous for them?”

“They hired me. I didn’t ask them why they weren’t hiring someone else.” Steve crosses his arms over his chest, and Bucky swallows. He sees Natasha’s eyebrow lift and he’s pretty sure he hates her. “Look, I haven’t been in business very long. I’m just trying to make my way through life without bothering anyone. I’m sorry I didn’t see or hear anything. Even if I’d been here when it happened, I’d have been working, which means loud noises, earphones, and my back to the door usually. I didn’t know Mr. Sitwell beyond two business meetings, during both of which he was offering me money in exchange for my business services, which means I have no motive for killing him so, please, just leave me alone and let me do my job, okay?”

“I’m afraid we can’t promise that, Mr. Rogers.” Natasha smiles at him ruefully. “But we appreciate you speaking with us, and I hope we can keep a dialogue open.”

“Given that my other choice is to get arrested...” Steve rubs his eyes with his ungloved hand. “Oh. Wait.” He leaves the room and goes down the hall to the room Bucky figures is his headquarters. They follow him and he grabs something from the floor. Bucky sees Natasha’s hand on the butt of her gun, but Steve just pulls out an honest-to-god metal lunchbox like something from the ‘30s. He opens it and pulls out a paper. “For you, Detective.”

Bucky takes it and opens it. It’s a notarized letter signed by Steve that gives Dr. Maria Hill permission to answer any of Bucky’s questions about Steve’s whereabouts the day of the murder. It very clearly states that’s _all_ of the information Bucky gets, but it’s the information he needs. Anything else he needs to know about Rogers’s psyche is pretty much outlined in his DOD file.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do this.”

“If I want you to leave me alone I did.” He tugs his glove back on and adjusts his baseball cap. “Nice to meet you, Detective Romanov.”

**

“He just cut you off at your dick,” Natasha states as Bucky hands her her coffee. “Here’s my alibi officer. Stuff it up your ass.”

“One less suspect. If it holds.”

“He’s not going to give you a notarized letter to talk to his shrink if it’s not going to hold.”

“She could lie for him. Maybe they’re lovers.”

Natasha blinks and lowers her coffee. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. We’re homicide detectives. Surely you’re well aware that people do unethical things.”

“Sarge.” She shakes her head. “You are the dimmest man on the planet. I mean, so smart and so clever but completely clueless. That very nice, very charming young man is _not_ boning his shrink.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because that very nice, very charming young man wants very much to bone someone more like you.”

“More like...?”

“Male.”

“You don’t know that. Gaydar is bullshit, so don’t try to use that as some excuse. There was absolutely nothing in our interaction with him that would imply or indicate an interest in _any_ gender.”

“Except for the fact that I have eyes and he looked at you the way you looked at him. Which is in the way that says you want to ride him off into the sunset.”

“You are a horrible person.” Bucky takes a drink of his coffee and shakes his head. “You coming with me to talk to the shrink?”

“I’m going to work with Tony on the tapes. Plus Clint owes me lunch.”

“You owe me lunch.”

“I’ll give you my leftovers. Assuming Clint springs for something fancier than fast food. Unless you want a couple of cold fries and a stray piece of lettuce?”

“See what forensics comes up with too? Call me if it’s anything interesting. Or relevant. Or incriminating. I’d be really happy to solve this.”

“So you can go after our friendly neighborhood renovator?”

“So I can get some sleep.”

**

“Toxicology came back.” Bucky sinks into his chair and tosses the folder to Natasha. “Sitwell had been drugged up with something that doesn’t have any kind of actual name. Just a chemical compound that no one other than Bruce can pronounce. There were probably some things in there that he made up just to fuck with me.”

“Does he know what it does?”

“Nothing good.”

“Was that his official explanation?”

“No. His official explanation contained words that gave Stark a hard-on, and therefore are words I never want to know. The only thing I needed to know was that some of the stuff in it is heavily monitored and a few of the chemicals are only dealt with by a few companies. So we have somewhere to look at least. Tony and Bruce are being science buddies, so we won’t see them for a while.”

“Good. That means you can take the day off.”

“I can’t take the day off.”

“You actually can, because it is your day off. As of five minutes ago, so go home, take a shower, put on your prettiest nightgown and go to bed.”

“You mean do laundry, take in my dry cleaning, buy something resembling food, sit around in my underwear and cry myself to sleep watching reruns of ‘Law & Order’?”

“Right. I’ll be doing that first one.” She opens her drawer and grabs her purse. “Come on, Sarge. You need a nap.”

“I need a drink.”

“He needs someone to slip him the D.”

Bucky flips off the room in general and grabs his jacket. “All right. All right. But we get anything on this, I get a call, got it?”

“Yes, Sarge,” the entire room sing-songs.

“I hate every single one of you.”

Natasha laughs as she falls in step with him. “You want a ride home?”

“Why do you drive in New York when you’re not on police business?”

“I like power and control.” She shrugs. “Pretend you’re surprised.”

“Nat, absolutely nothing in the world that you do would surprise me.”

**

Bucky manages his errands, then goes for a run. It’s almost sunset when he heads back toward his place, and he stops when he sees a familiar face heading in the opposite direction. He’s getting tired, so the correct action is to go home, but instead he turns around and hurries to catch up, falling into rhythm with Steve.

Steve turns his head and groans. “Seriously?”

“Don’t worry. This isn’t an interrogation. I just saw you and thought...”

“You could follow a few steps behind and make it a police chase?”

Bucky snorts and keeps right alongside him. “Your shrink is pissed at you, by the way.”

“I’m aware.”

“She read me the riot act, thinking I had coerced you into giving me permission to talk to her.”

“I didn’t. I gave her permission to tell you I had an appointment during the time Mr. Sitwell fell.”

“I think they amounted to the same thing in her book.” They’re silent for a while and then Bucky sighs. “I’m just doing my job.”

“I know. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Most people don’t.” Steve slows to a walk and Bucky does the same. He nods toward Bucky’s left hand. “Are you a vet?”

“Yeah. IED.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” A ghost crosses Steve’s face and he runs a hand through his sweaty hair. “I should get going. Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble for fraternizing with a suspect.”

“It’s nothing personal. I really am just trying to do my job.”

“That’s all I’m doing.” Steve blows out a breath. “I assume you’re not an asshole, so I figure that’s just your job. But I’m pretty sure that, by focusing on me, you’re letting whoever actually did this get away with it.”

“We’re working on it. No matter what TV would have you believe, these things don’t get resolved in an hour. Or, if you’re ‘Law & Order’ a half hour for the police work.”

“Do you watch those things and get pissed off?”

“So much.” Bucky laughs. “What about you?”

“Mostly military stuff. I’ve been known to yell at my screen now and then.” He smiles and Bucky sucks in a deep breath. Holy shit. 

“Do you curse HGTV?”

Steve huffs a laugh. “You have no idea. I mean, it’s a goddamned chandelier. It can be replaced. Do not base buying a house off of that.”

“My version of renovating is rearranging the pillows on my couch.”

Steve laughs, and that’s better than his smile. Bucky feels a pull of attraction and mentally kicks himself. Bucky needs to do what Steve suggested and get the hell out of there. For all intents and purposes, Steve is still a suspect, albeit an unlikely one, especially if Tony finishes analyzing the camera feeds and concludes that Steve wasn’t there. They’ve seen him on camera every other day he’s gone in, so it would be a deviation from pattern for him to enter anywhere else.

Of course, if he were going to murder someone, deviation from pattern would be the way to go.

Fuck.

“You want to get coffee?” Bucky snaps his mouth shut as if that will be some sort of way to imply he hadn’t said what he just said. Steve’s eyebrows are raised impossibly high.

“I imagine that’s not a good idea.”

“It is not a good idea. It is a better idea than me asking you if you want to get a drink.” Bucky’s unsure who is controlling his brain, because he’s pretty sure it’s not him. “Or over for a beer. So, on a scale of one to me getting kicked off the case, it’s only a reprimand.”

“Do you ask suspects out for coffee a lot?”

“No.”

“And for drinks?”

“Even less. In fact, I’m going to be honest with you and say you’re the first I’ve ever asked out for coffee. Which I’m not doing. It’s a subtle interrogation technique.”

“I don’t think it counts as subtle if you tell me it’s an interrogation technique.”

“Huh. Good point.” Bucky smiles and Steve smiles back, and Bucky knows he’s gone from stupid to monumentally stupid. Natasha is going to skin him alive. “Right. So. Coffee. Bad idea.”

“I appreciate the offer. But I’d much rather keep my life and your work separate.”

“Of course.” Bucky nods and glances over his shoulder. They’ve walked farther than he thought. “Well. Um. Have a good day. Jog. Both.”

“Thanks.” Steve smiles again and Bucky’s pretty sure he needs to get out of there before he does something really embarrassing. He’s insanely grateful that Steve’s actual smile hadn’t come out when they were questioning him. “You too.”

“Thanks. So. Yeah.” He gestures behind them. “Home’s that way. I’ll. Yeah.” He turns and starts jogging, mentally cursing himself as he heads back to his apartment. He can also hear Natasha laughing at him, which might even be worse.

**

“Okay.” Tony shoves Bucky’s chair over and grabs another one, sitting next to him. “Your suspect is no longer a suspect. Which means you’re back to square one. However, I, being the literal genius that I am, have a little something-something just for you. Because I’m a giver.”

“Also it’s your job?” Natasha asks.

“You’re mean and I don’t like you.” Tony points at her, but he keeps his hand behind the computer screen out of Natasha’s sight. He jiggles Bucky’s mouse, and bats his eyelashes up at Bucky. “Say my name. Tell me you love me.”

“Tony,” Bucky warns.

“Right, right.” He pulls up a video file and lets it play. He watches Bucky as it does, then plays it again as Natasha comes around to see it. “Surely you both know how to play ‘Where’s Waldo’.”

Bucky points at the screen. “That’s Pierce.”

“Ding ding ding. A point to the man in the ugliest blue tie I’ve ever seen. That is, indeed, Alexander Pierce who, as you know, is supposed to be in Japan. Who, according to his phone, _is_ in Japan.”

“Who, according to his secretary, was in Japan when our Mr. Sitwell took the fastest way down ten stories.” Bucky grins. “You get the phone connection?”

“He’s pinging it off satellites.” Bruce comes in and sits on the edge of the desk beside Tony. “Not a very sophisticated system. I’m running his financials. Emailed Sitwell’s to you.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, I’m not done with you.” Tony fast forwards the video, pausing it a few minutes later. “This is Pierce’s business associate, Johann Schmit. Your friendly neighborhood neo-Nazi from Germany. Big fan of Hitler. Not a great guy. He’s supposedly staying in the hotel, but he’s not on the guest registry.”

“Any names stick out?”

“Well, there’s no Adolf, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m still digging. Maybe you should ask your YMCA buddy if he’s seen either of them.”

“My what?”

“YMCA.” Tony does the arm movements as he says the letters, spelling them out. “Your construction worker?”

Bucky rubs his eyes. “Print out pictures of both of them. We’ll have some uniforms ask around with the staff. I’m going to assume they all know Pierce, but Schmidt might be different. I’ll ask Rogers.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Bucky looks at Natasha who has her head tilted as she gazes back at him. It’s easy enough to see what she’s thinking.

“It’s fine.” She looks away, her opinion eloquent even unspoken. Tony and Bruce move away and Bucky takes a sip of his coffee, making a face at the fact that it’s cold. “I know what I’m doing.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s the smart thing to do.” She moves back to her desk and looks at him. “Look, Bucky, I know you’re smart. I know you’re dedicated, and I know you want to solve this case. But even if he’s not a suspect, he’s involved in this somehow.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think he knows how or why. But there’s a good chance he might lead us to whoever’s behind it.”

“You know how I promised you I’d tell you if I thought you were losing it?”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah. I’m not talking about anything related to your arm. I’m talking about something related to another appendage.”

“I’m not thinking with my dick.”

“You sure about that, Sarge? Because I’m certain you’re not using your brain.”

**

He takes the pictures of Pierce and Schmidt to the hotel, letting the rest of the uniforms start on the staff and heading directly up to the floor Steve’s working on. There’s no sound, which is strange, and Bucky reaches in and unsnaps his shoulder holster, ready to draw.

He gets to the door of the room Steve’s been working on and stops, looking around inside. It’s finished structurally, and Steve is sitting on the floor, his eyes closed, and his head tilted back. The remnants of his lunch are scattered around him – box, thermos, a neat pile of trash. “Napping on the job, huh?” 

He cracks one eye and looks at Bucky. “Lunchtime. My boss gives me an hour that I get to use to do whatever I want.”

“Nice boss.”

“Eh. He’s alright.”

“Sorry to wake you.”

“Are you going to arrest me?”

Bucky shakes his head, trying to hide his smile. “Hadn’t planned on it.”

“Then you’re forgiven.” Bucky reaches out and grabs Steve’s hand, helping him get to his feet. “But we’ve really got to stop meeting like this. People are gonna talk.”

“Well, I’ve got something I’d like to show you. Work-related.”

“I wouldn’t think anything else.” Steve takes off his cap and runs his hands through his hair. Bucky watches and very determinedly does not think about doing the same to him. Or about what else Steve’s hands could be doing. Fuck.

“I have a few pictures I’d like you to look at if you could.”

“Sure. Give me a sec?”

He goes into his makeshift office and Bucky follows along. “The room looks good.”

“Still needs paint, but yeah. It came along nicely. Do you think you guys’ll be done with the last room soon? The next three are supposed to become a suite, and I can only do so much without it.”

“Yeah. I imagine they’ll be taking the tape down soon.”

“Great.” Steve sets his hat on the table and puts on a pair of glasses. Bucky clears his throat and looks down at the file in his hand.

“I was hoping you might be able to tell me if you know either of these men.” Bucky slides out the picture of Pierce and Steve shrugs.

“That’s Pierce. He was there when Sitwell brought me in the first time. Told me he’d heard great things about me. Hadn’t met him before then. But he owns these hotels. Surely you know who he is.”

“We’re just trying to find out who the players are. You understand.”

“Not really, no.”

“Just one more.” Bucky pulls out the picture of Schmidt and slides it over toward Steve. When he looks up, Steve’s eyes are wide and he’s taken several steps back until he’s against the wall. “Steve?”

“Put it away. Put it away.” He doesn’t look at Bucky, his eyes laser-focused on the photograph. “ _Now_.”

Bucky slides it back into the folder and grabs the folding chair. “Sit down. C’mon.”

Steve sits down hard. “Why did you show me that? Is this some sort of sick joke?”

“No. Steve. No. C’mon.” Bucky squats down in front of Steve, trying to catch his eye, ducking his head as Steve bows his. “You know him?”

Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever heard a more bitter laugh. “Yeah. I fucking... I know him.” He swallows hard and his eyes dart to the file. “Why? Why?”

“Mr. Pierce has been seen at the hotel in the past week which, given that he’s supposed to be in Japan, is a little suspicious. And Mr. Schmidt--”

“Don’t call him that,” Steve snaps. “Reichsführer Schmidt.”

“That’s a World War II rank.”

“Well, Schmidt likes to imagine himself as the new Hitler. He had a base. In Iraq. It wasn’t an officially sanctioned mission. It was...” He shakes his head and stands up. “Excuse me.” He moves before Bucky can, heading for the bathroom. The door slams shut and Bucky closes his eyes to the sound of Steve losing the contents of his stomach.

“Shit.” He pulls out his phone and texts Tony to pull Steve’s DOD file and dig a little deeper into the mission his team was on when they were killed. He also tells him to get whoever he needs to to sign off on it, because whatever it is, it’s probably buried deep.

Tony texts him back a smiley face and about 30 exclamation points. Bucky tucks his phone away as he hears the toilet flush and the water running in the sink. Steve comes out a minute or two later, looking pale and drawn. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Trust me.” He raises his left arm. “I understand better than most. You want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“So you haven’t seen Schmidt around?”

“If I had, you’d have another dead body on your hands.”

“Okay, first of all, never say that to a police officer. Secondly, never say that to a police officer, especially when there’s a murderer on the loose.” Bucky sighs. “So you haven’t seen him, you haven’t seen Pierce, and you hadn’t seen Sitwell in a while. Yet it sure seems like someone wants to make you the fall guy -- no pun intended – for this. Is there a chance that Pierce specifically hired _you_? That Schmidt knew it was you?”

“Steven Rogers. Serial number 54985870.” He shrugs. “I mean, it’s not an uncommon name, but I haven’t tried to hide. Can’t be that hard to find.”

“Okay, so why would they set you up?”

“Officially? No idea.”

“And unofficially?”

“That’s classified. And, whatever it was, I don’t have it anymore. All of the information was turned into my superior officer.” Steve walks back to the table and puts his hand on the folder. “I thought he died in the explosion. We’d left him for dead. I should have... I should have made sure. I should have...”

“Hey. Steve.” Bucky reaches out and touches his shoulder carefully. Steve jerks away and takes a step back. “Hey. We’ll get this guy. If he and Pierce are behind this, we’ll get him.”

“People like him don’t get ‘got’ by local police, no matter how good they are. It’s political. Too high up the food chain. Besides, no one’s going to listen to anything I have to say. The two other guys from my unit who are still alive don’t have functional cognitive abilities. I’m mentally unstable.”

“You’re suffering from PTSD.”

“You think they’re going to care what a shrink is going to call it? Look, I’m sorry. I don’t have anything to give you. And if Schmidt’s here, I’m going to send Mr. Pierce a very polite email telling him that I quit. It’ll likely fuck up my business reputation, but there are worse things.”

“I have a guy on my team who seems to be able to access information that’s not supposed to be for public consumption. We’ll find your classified file, and we’ll bring Schmidt down.”

Steve picks up his ball cap and puts it on, tugging it down so it’s nearly impossible to see his eyes. “I’m taking off for the day. Good luck, Detective.”

**

It is, by far, the worst idea Bucky’s had in a very, very long time.

He knocks at the door and steps back, waiting. It opens and Steve’s eyebrows go up. “Detective.”

“May I?”

“Do you have a warrant?”

“No. But I have beer.” He holds up a six-pack. “This is one-hundred percent unofficial. And stupid. And call me Bucky.”

“Bucky.”

“It’s a long story.” He offers Steve the six-pack and smiles. “May I?”

Steve steps back. “Sure. Bucky.”

Bucky walks in and looks around. It’s small and cheerfully lit. There are movie posters for old black and white films, and the whole place smells like bacon. He moves farther into the room where there’s an armchair and a couch that definitely isn’t long enough for Steve to lie down on. ““ _Thin Man_ , huh?”

“You a fan?”

“Nick and Nora? Absolutely. You seen any Preston Sturges?”

“And Howard Hawks.” He points to the _His Girl Friday_ poster. “I’m a sucker for romantic farce. What can I say?” 

“I like it.” He follows Steve into the kitchen. “Smells good.”

“Cauliflower and cheddar soup with bacon and Irish soda bread.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Shut up. Want some?”

“Sure.” He sits at the table and stretches out his legs. “Doing better?”

“No. Yes.” He shakes his head. “I sent my resignation to Pierce. He threatened to sue me for breach of contract, which I can’t afford. So heigh-ho heigh-ho.” He ladles up soup and brings two bowls over before setting the soda bread and butter on the table. “What about you? Any breaks in the case?”

“I don’t want to talk about the case.” Bucky takes a slice of the bread and slathers butter on it. “I don’t want to think about the case. I don’t want you to think about the case. Today was rough for you. I’ve had my share of nightmares without having a face to put on them. I can’t imagine what it would be like to actually have one.”

“Pretty awful.” Steve starts eating his soup and Bucky does the same. It’s good with just a hint of onion and garlic and something tangy along with the bite of the cheddar. “It’s my mom’s recipe.”

“I like it.”

“You cook?”

“I microwave. Does that count?”

“Almost.” Steve’s smile is still tinged with the events of the afternoon, lacking in the brightness and easiness Bucky’s seen before.

“I tend to be out a lot during the day, so we grab something while we’re on duty. Eat a lot of sandwiches and frozen entrees. Buy a lot of doughnuts.”

“So the stereotypes are true?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but I really like doughnuts.” Bucky offers Steve one of the beers and then opens his own. “I pay for them in the gym, but might as well have something to work out for, right?”

“Yeah.” He smiles again and takes a drink. “What are you really doing here?”

“Exactly what I said. No secret agenda.” He eats a few more spoonfuls then dips his bread in the soup, taking a messy bite.

“You didn’t actually say, you know.”

“Right. Okay. I thought you might need someone to talk to. Or someone to be around so you weren’t alone in your head. If I’m out of line, you should tell me to get my ass out, and I’ll go. I’ll even leave the beer. But I know, for me, having someone there and absolutely not talking about it was a lot easier than being alone with it or talking about it with someone. I used to just sit at the VA and listen, putting my own story together in my head.”

“They didn’t make you talk?”

“No. You can if you want, but no one makes you do anything. It’s kind of the opposite of the Army. Don’t have to follow anyone’s orders.”

“So you joined the police force?”

“Well, I didn’t have a lot of other talents beyond taking orders.” Bucky grins then licks his lips. He sees Steve’s eyes drop down to his mouth, and his chest tightens. This is possibly the worst idea ever, and Natasha is going to kick Bucky’s ass. “So here I am.”

“You like solving puzzles.”

“I’m good at puzzles. But I like to think of it as making things make sense, even the nonsensical stuff. Murder’s nonsensical, but it happens for a reason, you know?”

“I like creating things instead of destroying them. Building. Rebuilding. I have a degree in architecture and engineering, which means I can write small and neatly.”

“So your degree is in handwriting?”

Steve laughs and Bucky’s gut twists. It’s a combination of the sound and _making_ Steve laugh. The haunted look falls away from his face and his eyes brighten for a moment. “Hey, two degrees. One in small and one in neat.”

“You ever design anything that got built?”

“I worked on a few things. High rises, but it wasn’t what I wanted. I have a couple of things I’m working on, but nothing concrete. Everything takes money.”

“Ah. The old catch-22. Need money to make money. What is it you’re interested in?”

“Housing. Designing houses for disabled vets. Directly for their specifications, you know? I mean, you move into a housing development nowadays and you get to pick your amenities. So it’s sort of the same thing, only instead of whether or not you get a walk-in shower or a bath or a granite countertop versus a marble, you get to pick what works best for your disability to make it possible for you to be functional in your own home.”

“Wow. That’s a pretty...” Bucky finishes his soup and his bread before taking another sip of his beer. “Wow.”

“So tell me about Bucky.”

“It’s not that exciting. Middle name’s Buchanan. Have an uncle named James, goes by Jim. My little sisters called me Bucky.”

“Also not a long story.”

“Anyway, the name stuck. Nowadays though my coworkers all call me Sarge, which I hate.”

“You hate Sarge more than Bucky?”

“Bucky has sentimental value,” Bucky says with a laugh. “I was a sergeant in the Army, and then I was one for a while on the force before I got promoted to Detective. Anyway, they think it’s funny.”

“But it’s not your rank anymore.”

“Exactly.” Bucky exhales “You get it.”

“My nickname was Cap. Which was fine while I was a captain. Of course, there aren’t any people around to call me that anymore.” His face darkens and his brow furrows. “You want to watch a movie or something?”

“Yeah?”

“Oh. Well. I guess you came over to make sure I was okay. So. You probably should go, huh?”

“I could stick around for a movie. Something zany maybe?”

“Zany.” Steve bites his lower lip to keep from smiling and Bucky wants to bang his head against the wall. Everything about this is unfair. “I think I can do zany.”

Bucky sits on the couch and then slides onto the floor in front of it. He grabs a coaster off of Steve’s coffee table and sets it on the floor, settling his beer on top of it. He does his best not to watch Steve squat down and look at the DVD rack, but Steve’s ass in his jeans is a sight to behold. It had been nice in his sweats when they were running, but his jeans cling to him in ways that Bucky’s pretty sure are illegal. He bets he could find the statutes if he tried.

Looking over his shoulder, Steve raises an eyebrow. “’ _Bringing Up Baby_?”

Bucky smiles and nods and Steve smiles in return. Bucky shifts slightly and settles back against the couch again, determined not to think about Steve’s smile. Steve grabs the remote when he gets the movie in and scoots back, leaning back next to Buckyl. They’re both tense at first, but Bucky feels himself relaxing as he gets caught up in the movie, and Steve’s back isn’t quite so stiff.

At one point Steve gets up and gets them each another beer then sits back where he’d been, only slightly closer. Bucky can feel his body heat and Bucky fights against the compulsion to lean against to him. He focuses on the movie, getting lost in it and the sound of Steve’s laughter. As it starts to wind down, Bucky turns his head and watches Steve’s profile in the flickering light of the TV.

Steve turns his head and his eyes catch on Bucky’s. His tongue darts out to wet his lip, and Bucky watches it slide across the pink skin.

“I should go,” Bucky says softly. He can’t look away as Steve’s tongue slips back into his mouth and his lips stay parted, damp. “Work. Tomorrow.”

“Me too.” Steve’s eyes drop to Bucky’s mouth and then lift back to his eyes.

“You should be able to get in the last room tomorrow. I’ll make sure the officers have it all cleaned out.” He’s never wanted to kiss anyone as much as he wants to kiss Steve right now, never wanted to taste someone this badly. “All yours.”

Steve nods and his eyes are threatening to close, his lashes dusky against his cheeks. “All mine.”

Bucky’s phone rings and he scrambles to his feet, knocking over an empty bottle as well as his half-full one. “Shit. Shit.” He steps out of the puddle. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Answer your phone.”

“Shit.” Bucky rubs his mouth and answers. “Barnes.”

“You might want to get down to the hotel, Sarge. Things just got very, very bad for the interior decorator.”

**

Bucky’s head is pounding from the bright lights flooding the scene, the alternating red and blue of the cars on the street, and the smell of blood that permeates the room, which is only getting stronger in the heat of the lamps. The manager is standing outside the door with his mouth open in horror, even though uniforms are trying to guide him back down the hallway. Bucky looks over the scene and sighs. “Fuck.”

“Eloquently put.” Natasha walks into the room, blue booties on her shoes and a pair of blue gloves on her hands. “This is messy.”

“This seems staged.”

“Who’s the vic, do we know?”

“First responders found a wallet. Last name is Zola. Tony’s running a search right now. What is this room?”

“It’s not on the building blueprints. Mystery room. Murder room. And according to his schedule, the next room our renovator is supposed to start work on” She wrinkles her nose. “Why haven’t we smelled the blood before now?”

“I think that whoever killed Sitwell took more precautions with him. It was violent and vicious, but I don’t think it had the rage behind it that Zola did. Look at him. This is overkill. Over-overkill.”

“You think some of the blood in Sitwell’s office is this guy’s?”

“Maybe. We have a murder weapon?”

“We have two likely suspects.” Natasha nods to where techs are gathering evidence. “Hammer looks like it matches the blows to the head, and his throat was cut using the reciprocating saw.”

“Jesus.”

“We need to bring Rogers in.”

Bucky rubs his forehead. “Why would he do this here?”

“Because he’s a psycho? Look, Sarge, the guy is sick. He went through hell during the war and he’s still reeling from it. Maybe this guy saw something. We don’t know. We won’t know until we bring him in and question him.”

“He’s cleared for Sitwell’s murder.”

“He’s cleared if Sitwell was pushed out of the window. The two aren’t necessarily the same. I’ll send Sharon and Peter, okay?”

“I don’t believe he did this, Natasha.”

“I’m not sure the universe gives a shit what we believe.”

**

Bucky’s at his desk when he sees Steve walked into the holding room. He’s in handcuffs and his jaw is set in a hard line. Bucky glances away before Steve’s eyes can meet his, focusing instead on the folder on his desk. “You running this one?”

“Yeah.” Natasha leans back in her chair. “You cool with that?”

“Of course.”

“You coming in the box with me?” She raises an eyebrow and, if Bucky didn’t know her as well as he does, he’d think it was nonchalant, a simple question. But nothing is simple with Natasha.

“Yeah.” Bucky stands behind the two-way mirror as Steve is brought into the interrogation room and pushed down onto a folding chair, his hands locked in the cuffs on the table. His face is empty, his affect flat. Bucky knows that, even if there’s something to get out of him, they won’t be getting it. He waits for Natasha’s nod then follows her into the box.

“Well, Captain Rogers. Nice of you to join us.”

“How could I refuse such a cordial invitation.” Steve stares at her, barely blinking. “Am I being charged with something?”

“We just want to talk to you.”

“Most people invite me out for coffee when they want to talk to me.” He doesn’t even glance Bucky’s way. “I want a lawyer.”

“Of course you do, but once you get a lawyer...”

He cuts Natasha off with a sneer. “I want a lawyer.”

“You’re only hurting yourself Mr. Rogers.”

“Detective Romanov, I was kept in what was effectively a prison camp for 28 days. I was subjected to all sorts of fun and exciting methods of torture. If you think your little good-cop, bad-cop routine is going to bother me, you’re very wrong. If you’ve got something to say to me, you can say it to me when my lawyer shows up. Understood?”

Bucky can hear the grind of Natasha’s teeth. “Of course, Mr. Rogers.”

“Captain.”

“Pardon me?”

“It’s Captain Rogers, Detective. Not Mister.”

Her eyes narrow. “Very well. _Captain_.”

**

“Holy shit.” Sam stares at the door, swallowing hard and jabbing Riley in the side. “Holy. Shit.”

“What? Jesus C...holy shit.”

“What?” Bucky looks up from his desk as Natasha turns around. Standing in the door is a tall Black man with an eyepatch. “Is that Nick Fury?”

“Nick Fury, Esquire.” Fury says, his voice rumbling. It’s his natural pitch, and it’s made more than one jury sit up straighter. “I understand you have my client here.”

“Your client?” Natasha stands up and, even though she’s looking up at him, her attitude makes them seem the same height.

“Captain Steven Rogers. I think you know him.”

“Shit,” Bucky mutters under his breath. This just got even messier. And the odds of him getting in trouble for their dinner and a movie night have gone up exponentially. “Nat.”

“He’s in interrogation room one.”

“And he’ll be taken out of there and into a room where he and I can have some privacy. I’m going to assume at least one of you knows the rules around here.”

“I’ll take him.” Bucky gets to his feet and heads toward the box. Steve’s been stewing in there for almost an hour, and Bucky imagines he’s not in a particularly good mood. He shuts the door behind him. “Your attorney’s here.”

He holds his hands apart so Bucky can undo the lock that holds him to the table. “Look, Steve...”

“I’ll talk to you when my lawyer is present, Detective, and not a moment before.” He looks directly at Bucky, and Bucky can’t help but take a step back at the blankness in Steve’s eyes. He doesn’t move until Bucky opens the door and guides him out toward one of the private rooms for attorneys and clients. Fury is waiting at the door and his eyes do a quick sweep over Rogers.

“Thank you, Detective. You can go away now.” Fury grabs Rogers’s arms and guides him into the room ahead of him. The door closes with a sort of finality and Bucky turns around to see all of the other detectives staring at him.

“What the hell are you looking at? We’ve got work to do.”

**

Bucky has his hands buried in his hair and the words in front of him are swimming. His eyes burn and his head aches even more than it had before. The phone had rung earlier, so Sam and Riley had taken the call, heading out to a new crime scene. His phone dings and he has to rub his eyes to read it.

He looks up at Tony. “You’re ten feet away.”

“Just come here.”

Bucky gets up and stretches then walks over to Tony’s desk. “What have you got?”

“Arnim Zola. Swiss scientist. Friend of our buddy Schmidt. Apparently he’s a big fan of Mengele. The information that Rogers brought back from his mission that didn’t happen on orders that didn’t exist makes it clear that Zola worked alongside Schmidt in trying to break Rogers’s unit down. They did some fucked-up shit, Barnes. Like, Mengele would be _proud_ shit. I did some deeper digging like you asked and, apparently, Rogers was forced to watch it all. No wonder the poor fucker’s messed up.”

“We’re all messed up, Tony. Why would anyone kill Zola?”

“Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead?”

“That’s not the quote. Besides, two people are dead.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking over at the room Fury and Rogers are still sequestered in. “He seemed genuinely surprised when I showed him the picture of Schmidt. And by surprised, I mean horrified.”

“Well, I think whoever killed Zola really, really didn’t like him. And I think Rogers certainly fits that bill. Hell, I don’t like him, and I never met the man. Animal. Whatever you want to call him.”

“I don’t think he did it, Tony.”

“Well, if he didn’t, someone sure wants us to think he did.”

“And who would want that?” Bucky starts at Natasha’s voice. “If we’re going off Bucky’s instinct here, which is a stupid thing to do because we’re _professionals_ , work your way backward. Don’t look at the murder victims. Look at the victim of the murder investigation. Who would work this hard to frame Rogers, and why?”

“I’m going to guess it’s not someone who had a complaint about him redoing their bathroom.”

“Keep digging until you’re at least six feet under, Tony. Nat, we need to find Johann Schmidt.”

**

Bucky walks into the box with a file folder in his left hand. Fury is sitting next to Steve, and Steve’s cuffed to the table again. The tension in the air is thick enough that Bucky feels like he might choke. “As you both know, there’s been another murder.”

“My client knows no such thing. He only knows that he was arrested for suspicion of murder of an as-yet unidentified man in a room near the rooms my client was renovating.”

“I would assume, Mr. Fury, that given your level of expertise, you could infer from the charge that there had been another murder. I’ll be sure to be more clear next time, and use smaller words.” Fury’s eyebrow goes up, but his eye narrows. Bucky keeps talking. “We’ve identified the victim, and I have a few questions for your client on whether or not he might recognize him.”

Fury looks at Steve and Steve closes his eyes, blowing out a breath before he nods. “Go ahead.”

Given how Steve reacted to the picture of Schmidt, Bucky has absolutely no desire to show this one to Steve. Still, Bucky carefully slides it out, upside down, then turns it so Steve can see Zola’s face. Steve goes white and jerks back, his chair overturning. He manages to land on his knees, though his head hits the edge of the table.

Fury doesn’t say anything, but he places a heavy hand on Steve’s shoulder. “My client needs a glass of water.”

“No,” Steve croaks. “I’ll just throw it up. No.” He puts his hands on the edge of the table and stands. Fury’s hand slides off Steve’s shoulder and he reaches back with it to grab Steve’s chair and set it back up underneath him. The handcuffs rattle as Steve’s arms tremble.

“You know this man, Captain Rogers?”

“Zola.” Steve chokes out. “Sadistic son-of-a-”

“Rogers,” Fury says quietly.

“We’ve met. Yes.” He looks at Bucky, and Bucky wants to flinch away. “I met him when I met Schmidt, whom we’ve already discussed. I’m sure you can refer to your notes, Detective.”

“Why didn’t you mention him?”

“I assumed he was dead.”

“He was.”

Steve coughs and turns his head away. His throat convulses, and Bucky knows he’s trying to hold down bile. After a moment, Steve composes himself and turns back to Bucky. “I thought he’d died in the explosion that killed most of my men. I was unaware he’d escaped, just like I was unaware that Schmidt had. I wasn’t exactly keen to keep in touch once I got away from them.”

“Captain Rogers, you have not been in touch with either Dr. Zola or Mr. Schmidt since your mission in Afghanistan?”

“No.” Steve bites out.

“And you had no idea they were in the country.”

“You know I didn’t. I’ve _told_ you I didn’t. I didn’t do this.”

“I’m going to need a full statement from your client, Mr. Fury. We won’t be able to remand him until tomorrow, so he’ll have to spend the night as a guest of the City of New York. The DA will send you a court time once he’s on the docket.” Bucky comes over and unlocks Steve from the table and then frees one of his arms, pulling both of them behind Steve’s back.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Rogers. Keep your mouth shut.”

Steve nods as Bucky guides him out of the box and out of the squad room. His head is bowed, and Bucky’s careful not to look at anyone either. “I don’t suppose my cell gets Turner Classic Movies.” He barks a harsh laugh. “Surprised you didn’t do the dirty work yourself.”

“I was busy with a dead body.” They get out of the elevator and Bucky guides Steve back down a cement corridor. There are thick iron doors spread out, all of them with bars on the small openings. He puts Steve inside one of them and unlocks his cuffs, pushing him gently into the cell. “For what it’s worth...”

“Don’t. Because no matter what it is, it’s not worth anything.” He walks away from the door and Bucky can hear the rough scrape of his shirt against the wall as he sits on the single bunk. Bucky rests his head against the door and blows out a breath.

“Fuck.”

**

“This is horrible. This is horrible.” The hotel manager grabs Bucky’s left arm and Bucky jerks away.

“Don’t.”

“You don’t understand, Detective Barnes. This is horrible for our hotel. Guests are cancelling their reservations, they’re checking out early.”

“I need to speak to Mr. Pierce.”

“He’s in Japan. Detective, please.”

Bucky whirls around and steps closer. “Mr. Pierce is _not_ in Japan. He’s here in New York, and you will find him and you will tell me where he is, and I will talk to him and at that point, it’s likely I will be in a good enough mood that I won’t book you for obstruction of a police investigation. Now, you get on the phone with whoever you need to get on the phone with and you _find_ Pierce.”

“I... I...” He makes a noise like a squeak and bolts behind the desk and down the corridor to his office. Bucky hasn’t slept, hasn’t shaved, and his head hasn’t gotten any better. All of Steve’s blueprints and renovation plans have been confiscated and taken to headquarters, and there’s still a team in every room, going through them with a fine-tooth comb. Bruce is in the middle of the building’s blueprints on file in the public record, trying to figure out where the room came from. Bucky hates feeling like he’s playing catch-up, but this time it’s made worse by the fact that he doesn’t even know who the other players are.

“Here.” Natasha hands Bucky a Starbucks cup. “I actually got them to give us six shots each. I anticipate heartburn for a week, and not sleeping for roughly a month. What do we have?”

“The manager – I don’t even reemember his name – is finding Pierce. I’m going to pretend to be shocked when we find out he’s actually been in the States. He’ll probably say he left his phone in Japan and will have to find out who has been using it.” He takes a sip and coughs. “Holy shit.”

“Told you.” She takes a drink of her own. “And when we have Pierce?”

“I haven’t gotten that far. We’ve got nothing to tie this to him other than this is his hotel and he’s been here when he said he wasn’t.”

“Do we have any actual ties to him and Schmidt or Zola?”

“Tony’s looking. Tony’s looking through about five different things right now, all equally important. And we’ve got to figure this out, because we’re going to get crucified if we charge a decorated war veteran with this, especially if it gets out that Zola was involved in Afghanistan, and I’m pretty sure Fury will make sure it does.”

“Have we figured out anything more on why someone would want to blame this on Rogers?”

“I have a theory, but nothing to substantiate it on.”

“Well, tell Auntie Nat.”

“Not here.” He takes another drink and makes a face. “Seriously, how can you drink this?”

“You do what you have to, Sarge.” She drops her card at the front desk. “Tell your manager to call us as soon as he knows the information we need.”

The girl behind the counter nods, her eyes wide and fearful. Bucky hides his smile behind his coffee cup. “You frightened the children.”

“It’s my job.” She falls in step beside him as they head to the station. “Okay. What’s your theory?”

“What if someone’s cleaning up? They want to get rid of the people involved in the mess in Afghanistan, so they’re using Rogers, and the fact that he _is_ a decorated veteran and that he _was_ tortured by Zola? Fury’s going to play every card in the book to make sure that comes out, covert mission or no.”

“So you think Pierce or Schmidt is killing off the trail that leads back to him or them. Cleaning house.”

“It’s been known to happen. And, seriously, look at Rogers. He’s the all-American boy, right? Blond hair, blue eyes, built like a quarterback. He wants to design and build affordable housing designed around vets with disabilities. He suffered through torture and is left to carry the guilt of his unit’s death and destruction.”

“These are seriously violent crimes, Bucky. How’s Fury going to sell that he’s not guilty?”

“Crime of passion. Manslaughter, maybe. The problem is that all of the evidence against Rogers is circumstantial. His tools, so of course they have his fingerprints on them. His workspace, so his DNA is everywhere. A secret room built behind a closet like fucking Narnia that no one knew about until a renovation company came in? There’s nothing that would stick. Reasonable doubt’s going to kick our ass.”

She nods and walks beside him. “You know you’ve compromised this case.”

“What?”

“How’d you know what he wanted to grow up to be? Goddamn it, Barnes.”

“We talked about it before I showed him the picture of Schmidt. I didn’t think it was relevant to my report, so I didn’t mention it. I haven’t compromised _anything_.”

“You’ve got a hard-on for our main suspect.”

“Yeah, well, I’m intimately familiar with my right hand, so my hard-on doesn’t enter into this. I had a fucking body drop at my feet, Natasha. I had some poor bastard’s brains on my slacks. I’ve got two unsolved murders within a seven-block radius of police headquarters. I’ve got every single resource we’ve got working on this, and unless you’ve got something to actually say about this, you can just shut the fuck up.”

Her eyes are narrowed, but Bucky doesn’t care. All of his frustration and feelings of inadequacy are humming just beneath his skin and choking him in an effort to get out. “Okay.” She nods. “Let’s go see what Tony and Bruce have come up with.”

**

Clint’s at Tony’s desk when they come into the squad room. He waves a report at Bucky and Natasha. “Your mad scientist was injected with the same drug our skydiver was.”

Tony wiggles his fingers over his head. “And I’ve isolated one of the chemicals to an exporting company in Germany who, completely inexplicably, has a warehouse in Iraq, that mecca of exportation.”

“And?”

“Shipment was delivered to Bryant Enterprises which, wait for it, is a subsidiary of Pierce Incorporated, and really, what kind of name is that? Bor-ring.”

“Okay. One step closer. What else can we find out about Bryant? Anything that connects them directly with the manufacturing of this drug? Or that ties back to the hotel?”

“Oh, I never thought of checking that,” Tony says with an expressive eye-roll. “Also our buddy Pierce isn’t hiding from street or traffic cams, so Bruce is plotting his travel patterns in the city. We’re still on the lookout for Schmidt. He seems to have gone to ground.”

“What else do we have on Rogers’s file?”

“Still haven’t found who ordered the operation. So far I’ve gone through fifteen different people in charge of it, none of whom were in any position to authorize or organize the incursion.”

“So we haven’t really made any progress.”

“Excuse me?”

“Not you, Tony. You’ve done a great job. We just haven’t found anything to actually incriminate or exonerate Rogers beyond a reasonable doubt.”

“What are the chances any of Rogers’s men might be able to help us?”

“Slim to none, I think. From everything I’ve read they’re all over the edge.”

Natasha frowns and turns Tony’s computer screen, ignoring his squawk of protest. She scans the screen and hits the print button. “C’mon, Barnes. Let’s see if we can get lucky.”

“You’re not his type,” Tony yells after them. “He likes ‘em big and stupid.”

“Nah,” Natasha tosses back over her shoulder. “Just big.”

**

“You have no idea how much I’d love it if none of you talked about my sex life.”

“You mean your lack of a sex life?” She swerves into another lane, ignoring the car behind her honking. “Face it, you’ve been going through a spell dry enough to be the Sahara. The Gobi. The Gobi’s bigger, right?”

“Yeah, well, we can’t all shack up with the medical examiner.”

“You know, when you put it that way, it sounds creepier than it is. I mean, it’s Clint, so it’s pretty creepy anyway, but medical examiner just brings to mind all these instruments and--”

“Shut up. Now. Please.” He looks down at the sheet of paper Natasha had printed out. “Gilmore Hodge. Who named that poor bastard?”

“Says James Buchanan Barnes.”

“I’m named after a president.”

“Yeah, wasn’t he a big slavery guy?”

“I didn’t say he was a good president.” He reads through the file. “You know the odds of him being able to talk to us are slim, right? And if he reacts anything like Rogers did, I’m not sure showing him pictures of Schmidt and Zola are a good idea.”

“We’ll play it by ear.” Natasha parks outside of Hodge’s house and they both look up. “Well.”

“Yeah. I think we might be looking at a Steve Rogers original.” The house has a ramp with small bumps in it to keep a chair from rolling down uncontrolled no matter the weather. They walk up the set of stairs next to it and knock on the door. “Mr. Hodge?”

There’s no answer, so Bucky looks through the window next to the door. The lights are off; he can’t see much, so he knocks again.

“Mr. Hodge? My name is Detective James Barnes from the Brooklyn Police Department. My partner and I would like to talk with you if you have a moment. Regarding your former commanding officer, Captain Rogers?”

There’s still no answer, but there’s a muffled sound from inside. Both Bucky and Natasha tense. “Walther PPK,” Natasha snaps. She bolts for the backyard and Bucky tries the doorknob. It won’t turn.

“Mr. Hodge! We’re coming in!” He shoves against the door and, when that doesn’t work, he shoots at the knob until he can get the door open. The room smells of cordite and heat and he works his way through the house, gun out. “Mr. Hodge? Can you hear me? It’s Detective Barnes, Mr. Hodge.” 

At the back of the house he finds the source of the smell. Gilbert Hodge is crumpled in front of his wheelchair, surrounded by blood. From the amount and color of it, it’s clear that whatever that suppressed shot was, it wasn’t for Hodge.

Natasha comes in and shakes her head. “Chased him, but he had too much of a head start. There’s a dead body in the back bedroom. Kid.”

“Fuck.” Bucky looks down at Hodge. “I’m going to guess this isn’t a coincidence.”

“There are no coincidences. We need to get to Philips.”

“You want to go or stay and call this in?”

“I’ll go. Get eyes on Rogers too.”

“He’s the main suspect,” he calls out to remind her.

“Until he’s a liability and a convenient suicide.”

“Shit.” She swings the front door shut behind her even though it swings back open with the lock and latch shot off. Bucky gets on the phone and dials 911, waiting for the local cops to come on the line.

**

“Philips had a tragic mix-up with his meds.” Natasha’s tone reeks of sarcasm. “You have someone on Rogers?”

“Sam right now. Soon as you get back, I’m going to take over. See if we can get him into protective custody while we keep trying to get this figured out.”

“What do you think he’ll say to that?”

“I’m debating on if he’ll be too polite to say the word ‘fuck’.” He sighs. “How far away are you?”

“Oh, shit. Was I supposed to pick you up?” She laughs as the car comes around the corner. “You should see your face, Sarge.”

“I’d suggest that you ceased to be funny, but you’ve never been funny.” He hangs up the phone and gets into the car when she pulls up to the curb. “So, I assume that Philips was killed first. Then Hodge then the kid? Why the kid? Witness?”

“My guess. Do the local cops know who it is?”

“Yeah. The son of a lady who helps him around the house. She had a doctor’s appointment, so the kid stayed behind.” Bucky rubs his hand over his face. “We still don’t have eyes on Pierce or Schmidt, but Rogers has an alibi for the kid, unless he can run faster than the speed of light or can teleport.”

“We don’t actually know that he can’t do either of those things.”

“I’m ignoring you.” Closing his eyes, he leans his head back on the seat. He dials Tony without looking. “Stark, I need you to do illegal things.”

“I work for the police department, Sarge. How could you ask me to do that?” Bucky can already hear him typing, getting ready. “What am I looking for?”

“I need to know what the mission Rogers was on was about, and why, all of a sudden, we’ve got four murders -- all somehow connected -- on our hands. Something must have triggered the killing spree, and I want to know what.”

“And I assume that, by finding this out, you want me to eventually find the proper legal channels to use it as evidence?”

“I would never go so far as to tell you how to do your job, Stark.” He can feel Natasha looking at him as he hangs up. Her stare has weight. “Keep your eyes on the road.”

“Has anything happened between you and Rogers?”

“No. And nothing will.”

“Because I know it’s been a long time since you’ve gotten-”

“I have not and will not ever sleep with a suspect.”

“Yeah, but Steve Rogers wasn’t always a suspect, and hell, I wouldn’t mind a shot at him. Do you think I have a shot at him? Or do you think he’s interested in your kind.”

“My kind?”

“Yeah. Brooklynites.”

Bucky snorts. “You know, the subject hasn’t come up. Because sometimes murder has nothing to do with sex or sexual proclivities. Remember? You’re not on vice anymore.”

“That’s true. I haven’t had to play a hooker in ages.” She’s quiet for a long time, the only sound the dull roar of the car’s tires. “Hey. You know I just worry about you, right?”

“Don’t try and pull that. I know we’re not friends. You just love me for my body and my investigative skills.”

“Yeah, and sadly your body is off limits in so many ways, and I have a better close rate than you.”

“I just like making you feel good about yourself.”

“You keep telling yourself that. Whatever keeps you from crying in your Cheerios.” They drive in silence for a while until Natasha breaks it as they get closer to Brooklyn. “Look, Sarge…”

“Don’t.” He shakes his head. “This is totally different.”

“You’re a vet and you had your own rounds of torture. You might be a little too close to this case is all. I mean, it might be hitting home.”

“What I went through wasn’t the same. Physical torture. Trust me, it’s different.” He rubs the thumb of his prosthetic. It’s an original, made by Tony’s father’s science division. He can use it pretty much as a regular arm, which is the only thing that keeps him from a desk job. “If anything, all it does is make me want to get these assholes more than them being generic murderers does. And you know how I feel about generic murderers.”

“True. You are not fond.” She reaches over and takes his hand, and he knows she doesn’t think about the prosthetic as anything but. “We’re gonna get these guys. And save your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my… God, I hate you.”

“You love me. You can’t help yourself.”

**

Bucky knocks on the door of Sam’s car and slides into the passenger seat. “Thanks for doing this. I know you’ve got your own cases.” 

“I’ve got uniforms too. Just knew you’d feel better with someone you knew watching your boy.”

“He’s not my… You guys have no idea how much I want to use my advanced military training on all of you.”

“Awww. We knew you loved us best of all.” He nods toward Steve’s place. “He knows we’re here, by the way.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Came out of the house, walked straight up to me, and stood there until I rolled down the window. Then he passed me a bag with a sandwich and an apple. Very nice young man.”

“Jesus.”

“So go on and say hi.” Sam says with a laugh. “Be all neighborly.”

Bucky blows out a breath and gets out of the car, walking up to Steve’s door and knocking. Steve opens it after a few minutes and leans against it. “Detective.”

“It’s for your own protection.”

“I can protect myself.”

“What did I tell you before? Don’t say stuff like that to a guy that’s got five dead bodies that he’s dealing with.”

Steve’s brow furrows. “Five?”

“Yeah. Can I come in?”

He steps back, and Bucky can feel the wariness in him. More than doubling the body count tends to cause that reaction in people. “You want coffee?”

“I want something stronger, but I’m still on duty, so coffee’d be great.” He follows Steve in, glancing around the house. It still has the same warm, inviting feel that makes Bucky want to settle in. Instead he makes himself follow Steve into the kitchen. He sits at the table as Steve starts to make a pot, tracing swirls on the tabletop. “How long have you lived here?”

“Since I got back. It was a mess, so I’ve been working on it. Still working on it. I… Needed a project. I suppose you know all about that.”

Bucky gives him a slight nod. “Part of my job. Knowing all the things about people that they don’t like to talk about. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I had to. It’s always tough when the people you try to dig up dirt on are innocent.”

“None of us are exactly innocent.” Steve leans on the counter next to the coffee pot and crosses his arms over his chest. “You said five bodies.”

“Yeah.” Bucky rubs his eyes and looks somewhere over Steve’s shoulder. It seems safer than looking at his face, safer than seeing his reaction. “With Schmidt involved, we think it might have something to do with your last mission overseas. So we thought we’d go talk to the surviving members of your unit.”

Steve shakes his head. “No. Shut up.”

“We… We were too late.”

“Shut. Up.” Steve starts shaking, and Bucky stands, unsure what to do from there. “No. No.”

“I’m sorry, Steve.”

Steve’s face crumples like a breaking dam, and he sinks to his knees, bowing forward until his forehead is on the floor. His whole body is trembling, and he’s not making a sound. Bucky kneels down beside him, not touching him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“H-how?” He chokes out.

“Philips was given the wrong medicine. The wrong IV. Natasha said the doctors said he died quickly.” He reaches out, hand hovering over Steve’s shoulder. “Hodge was… He was shot.”

Steve’s laugh is gruesome. “Not in the back again, I take it.”

“Shit,” Bucky breathes, finally touching him. Steve turns almost faster than Bucky can process, grabbing Bucky’s wrist tight enough that he can feel his bones shift. “Steve.”

“Th-that’s four. Who else?”

“His name is Danny Tre--”

If Steve had been struck by grief about his teammates, Danny’s name hits him like a shot, sending him all the way to the floor with a gasp that’s pure horror. “No. No. Goddamn it _no_!”

“Steve.” He kicks Bucky away from him. Bucky moves back carefully until his back’s against the opposite counter. “We’re going to catch the people that did this. We’re… We’re going to get them. I swear to you.”

“They’re untouchable.” Steve’s voice is so low, Bucky has to strain to hear it. He curls in on himself for a long moment then slowly sits up. He doesn’t look at Bucky. Instead he stares down at his hands. “So I’m next. They’re getting rid of any witnesses, and figured out they can’t frame me, so I’m next.”

“I’m not going to let that happen.”

“It’ll… It’ll be a relief, you know? I let them down. They stared at me, begging even when they couldn’t talk. Please, Cap. Help us. Save us.” He opens his hands, grimacing like he can see blood on them. “And then they resented me. There in front of them, untouched. I could see them turning. Could see the hate when it started. Not that I blamed them. I hated myself. Probably more.”

“Steve…” Bucky reaches out, even though there’s no way he can touch him from the distance between them. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You were all captured. All hostages. All tortured. You’ve got the scars the same as any of them. Yours are just on the inside.”

“I built Hodge’s house. Took an old piece of shit and worked like hell to do it for him, because I owed him at least that much. He only took it because he didn’t have any choice. He didn’t want anything from me.”

“That’s _not_ your fault.”

“Yeah.” He finally looks at Bucky and his eyes are haunted. “I led us straight into the ambush. I charged ahead like we were indestructible. We weren’t.”

“You had bad intel. You were like lambs to the slaughter. I read the file, Steve. I know.”

“You don’t know anything.” He gets to his feet and disappears into the house, a door slamming in the distance a few moments later. 

Bucky thumps his head against the counter a few times and then forces himself to his feet. Sometimes he hates his job almost more than the people that require him to do it. He goes through the living room, past the bathroom to the shut door at the end of the hall. He knocks once and then looks inside. Steve is standing there frozen, staring at the man in front of him like he’s seen a ghost.

Bucky frowns at the man, tilting his head slightly. There shouldn’t be anyone else in the house, least of all one of the uniforms. “Rumlow?” He says just as Steve says, “You’re dead.”

**

“Shouldn’t believe what you read in the papers, Stevie.” Rumlow walks forward, the light catching his badge. “I made some friends in that hellhole. Was easy once I realized my commanding officer was no friend of mine.”

Bucky curses silently, knowing that the odds of him getting to his gun before Rumlow fires a shot are slim to none, and there’s no way he can call for backup. Rumlow glances at him and smirks, gesturing with his gun to have Bucky move closer to Steve. “Your little girl almost caught me this afternoon. When you gonna learn, Sarge? Takes having something between your legs to be the best in this world.”

“She’s got bigger balls than you’ve got.”

Rumlow laughs. “That how she got to be your second in command? Got herself a strap-on so she could fuck her way to the top?”

Bucky’s jaw clenches, and he can feel Steve tense beside him, body mass shifting. He shakes his head slightly, hoping Steve can see it from the corner of his eye. Heroes get themselves killed. 

“Schmidt saved you.”

“Schmidt. Zola. Pierce. The whole trifecta. I have to admit, Cap. You mourned so pretty. Would have made my job easier if you’d offed yourself when you tried, but a hell of a lot less fun.”

“Is this the part where you monologue?” Bucky sighs. “Tell us all the nefarious plan? Because that’s so cliched. At least be original.”

The shot hits Bucky in the left shoulder and he winces. It hits the prosthetic and stays there, stuck deep into the metal. He grins, using Rumlow’s momentary shock to grab his gun. His shot goes off-target when Steve starts moving forward and Bucky has to adjust his aim. Steve hits Rumlow low, and instead of his gun arm, Bucky hits his body as it bends forward and catches Rumlow in the throat.

Blood sprays everywhere, raining down on Steve as Rumlow falls forward on top of him. Bucky’s on his radio calling for backup before he hurries over, pushing Rumlow off of Steve and onto the floor. Steve doesn’t move, just stays there and Bucky relives the moment in his head, trying to assess whether he heard two gunshots, whether Steve got hit.

He kneels beside Steve and grabs his shoulder, forcing him upright. There’s no blood on his front, and Bucky slumps with relief. “He didn’t shoot you.”

Steve shakes his head and then turns it, looking at where Rumlow is lying on the floor, bleeding out on the blue carpet, turning it to purple and then black, like a bruise. “I thought he was dead. I thought…”

“Hey. It’s okay. It’s all right.” Bucky holds Steve’s shoulders to keep him steady, to turn him so that he’s not looking at Rumlow. “It’s okay.”

Steve’s still shaking his head as the uniforms come swarming into the house. He’s not surprised to see Natasha come in as well a few minutes later. He guides Steve further away from the body and helps him down onto the floor where he can lean against the mattress. His view of Rumlow is blocked by the other uniforms, so Bucky stands up and goes to Natasha, surrendering his gun for processing.

One of the other officers guides him out of the room, away from Steve, to get his statement, and Bucky’s glad to see Natasha moving closer to Steve as one of the uniforms goes over to do the same to him. 

“You all right, Detective Barnes?”

Bucky looks up at the officer and frowns at his nametag. “Do I know you?”

“Yeah. Parker, sir.” Bucky nods and the kid -- Bucky Isn't sure he’s old enough to be a Boy Scout, much less a police officer -- frowns. “You all right, Detective?”

“Just take my statement.”

**

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” 

Natasha doesn’t look up, just pushes a beer over to the stool beside her. Bucky sits down and drinks half of it. It’s been a shitty day.

“You did _not_ put him in the hotel owned by the people we’re pretty sure are trying to kill him. Tell me you didn’t do that.”

“I didn’t do it.”

“I’m using the royal you.” He glares at her over the rim of his glass. “What the _fuck_?”

“He wanted to go there, and we can’t prove that there’s some sort of threat to his life now that Rumlow’s gone. Besides, it’s seven blocks from the police station, and we couldn’t make him choose somewhere else. You shot the immediate threat to his life, therefore absolving us of any more involvement with Mr. Rogers.” She takes a sip of her own beer. “Plus, I’m pretty sure the guy has a little bit of a death wish.”

“Last man standing.” Bucky finishes his beer and calls the bartender over, this time ordering a shot. “But now Schmidt and Pierce have unlimited access to him.”

“Yep.”

“Yeah. And I don’t have a gun.”

“You don’t have a department issued weapon, no.” She gives him a knowing glance. “I did request that he give us his room number, just for some reassurance.” She slides a napkin toward him, the numbers 647 written on it in dark marker. “Maybe swing a patrol -- a carefully vetted patrol -- by every once in awhile.”

“Is that so.”

“Mm.” 

He downs his shot as soon as it arrives and pushes money across at the bartender. “Night, Nat.”

She waves her fingers in his direction. “Night, Sarge.”

**

It takes Steve a few minutes to open the door, and Bucky doesn’t like how anxious that makes him. When he does open it, Bucky nearly chokes. Steve Rogers in nothing but a towel is a sight to behold. 

“Uh.”

“Fourth shower. I keep trying to get the blood off of me.” He doesn’t move from the doorway and Bucky nods dumbly. “Did you want to come in?”

He nods again and Steve steps back, the towel parting slightly. Bucky forces his eyes up, but that just gives him a view of Steve’s abs and his chest. “Um.” Bucky moves inside the hotel room and just stands there as Steve shuts the door. They’re too close. Far too close. “I’m. Um. I’m not on duty.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because.” Bucky swallows hard. “I’m not on duty.”

“Ah. No police protection, so you’ve taken it upon yourself to protect me?”

“Sure. We’ll go with that.” He finally gets his gaze up to Steve’s face. He’s got a wry smile and his eyes are so goddamned blue. “Are you okay?”

“Not even a little bit.” Steve laughs, and it’s raw, like his throat’s been scraped and overused, and Bucky wants to kick himself for that analogy, given where his mind flashes for a long second. 

“I’m sorry I had to go. I wanted to talk to you before I left, but they were still taking your statement.” Neither of them has moved, and Bucky’s breathing Steve’s air, breathing in Steve. “You know it’s not over, right? Not as long as Pierce and Schmidt are around. Not as long as there’s still someone around to identify them, to implicate them.”

“Is that why you’re really here?” Steve walks away and grabs a pair of boxers from the duffel bag on the bed, pulling them on beneath his towel. “Make sure I don’t help them out?”

“I can’t imagine any circumstance where you’d… Oh. You mean by finishing the job. No. I don’t. I don’t think you’re that guy anymore.”

“You don’t even know me, Detective.”

“When I lost my arm, I had to spend two months at a hospital in Germany. I had a stump to the elbow. They had to operate when the gangrene set in. They saved most of the shoulder, which is why I can wear this.” He raises his left arm. 

“It’s okay?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods and keeps going. “And I only get to do detective work because I was lucky enough to meet someone who could set me up with a prototype. Before that, I was another out of work vet, bordering on homeless. I was frustrated as hell with the system and my damn body that couldn’t do all the stuff I wanted it to, and I thought that I’d be better off dead.”

“What changed?”

“Like I said. I met someone. Asshole named Tony Stark came down to the local VA with his buddy Sam. Sam’s a vet and does part-time work as a counselor there. Tony’s dad, Howard, was spearheading a program to fit disabled vets with prosthetics. I was the first dummy to agree. Sam really pushed for it. He knew I had a history in law enforcement, and thought I could maybe get back into it. Try and find a good cause to fight for.”

“I’ve heard of him. Howard Stark. He offered me a loan to start my business.”

“I saw what you built for Hodges. It was amazing. You do something amazing, Steve. I get being overwhelmed. I get guilt. But the killing I did over there didn’t change anything. And killing myself over here seems like just as much of a waste. I survived. Maybe there was a reason for that.”

“You sure your friend Sam’s the counselor at the VA?”

Bucky laughs. “I’ve been known to stop by still.”

Steve points to the minibar. “You want a drink?”

“Sure.”

He starts to walk to it then stops, apparently realizing he’s just in boxer briefs. “I should...um.” He grabs a pair of sweats and tugs them on. They hang low on his hips, and Bucky’s not sure it’s any better than Steve’s legs being exposed. The fabric curves over and accents the hard muscles of Steve’s thighs as he squats down to look in the mini-bar, and the waistband drops dangerously low. 

“So you went back to architecture after the war?”

“The gave me a medical discharge since ‘crazy as fuck’ isn’t actually in the books as grounds for dismissal. Especially to a guy that’s got the Medal of Honor and a Distinguished Service Cross. It’s the whole Catch-22 thing. But nobody really trusted me anymore. I mean, how do you bring home three guys, close to dead, and leave three behind and walk away without a scratch on you? No one’s gonna believe the truth. Sometimes I don’t believe it.” He hands Bucky a bottle of vodka, taking one of tequila for himself. “So, yeah. I went back to what I knew. Tried to find a way I could help.”

Bucky opens the vodka and takes a sip. Steve sinks down onto the floor beside the minibar and closes his eyes, drinking down the whole bottle of tequila. After another sip, Bucky goes over and sits next to him, knees pulled up and his wrists resting on them. “Stark’s pissed that I got shot in my arm. He yelled at me the entire time that he was pulling the bullet out and fixing it, reminding me that I had a perfectly good flesh-and-blood one to ruin.”

Steve laughs. “Stark’s kind of an asshole.”

“His son’s worse. But they’re both brilliant, so they get a pass, you know?” He turns his head toward Steve. “I, on the other hand, am not brilliant.”

Steve turns his head, and suddenly they’re too close again. Steve’s eyes drop to Bucky’s mouth and this time, Bucky doesn’t wait. He makes a muffled sound then brushes his lips over Steve’s. It’s a barely there touch, more of a breath than a kiss. 

“See?” It’s another breath and Steve’s lips part. “Not brilliant.”

Steve closes the distance between them. He slides his hand along Bucky’s jaw and then to the back of his neck, pulling Bucky closer. Bucky moans softly and opens his mouth to Steve’s tongue, to the slide and pressure of it as it snakes into Bucky’s mouth. Their heads move back and forth, both of them trading control. Finally, Steve pulls back, breathing hard into Bucky’s mouth. “Oh.”

“I…” Bucky catches Steve’s lower lip with his teeth, then sucks on it. Steve tugs him in again and kisses him, mouth moving over Bucky’s, owning it as he pulls Bucky closer, tongue teasing the roof of Bucky’s mouth, the curve of his teeth. Bucky wraps his hand around Steve’s arm to hold him there, surrendering to the direction of Steve’s mouth, his kiss. When Steve pulls back this time, Bucky’s eyes drop to his mouth and he ducks in, swiping his tongue across Steve’s swollen bottom lip. 

“I don’t know,” Steve murmurs against Bucky’s mouth before pressing another kiss against it. “Seems like a pretty brilliant idea to me.” He kisses him again and Bucky shifts, getting onto his knees. He refrains from straddling him, even though that’s what Bucky’s entire being seems to want to do, and just leans into him. 

Steve’s free hand settles on Bucky’s hip and curls through the belt loop, tugging him even closer. Bucky’s relatively certain he’s going to completely lose control and settle on Steve’s lap so he can grind down against him but before he can there’s a loud knock on the door.

“Mr. Rogers?”

Steve thumps his head back against the cabinet behind him and releases Bucky. Bucky settles back down next to him, trying not to watch as Steve reaches down and adjusts himself, even though his sweatpants don’t hide anything.

“Yes?”

“Um. Well, is...uh… Is Detective Barnes in there, sir?”

“I’m here.”

“There’s… uh. Well, we think you should see this, sir.”

Bucky hangs his head and lets out a slow breath. “Sometimes I hate my job.”

“I’m starting to see why.” 

Bucky gets up and holds out a hand to Steve. He takes it and levers himself off the floor. They stand there for a minute, almost the same height, and it would be so easy to kiss him again, so easy to follow the flush that colors Steve’s neck and chest with his mouth and… 

“Detective Barnes?”

“Shit. Yeah.” Bucky goes over to the door, adjusting himself and hoping his erection is less prominent than Steve’s. He swings the door open and glares at the uniform there. “Yes?”

“Detective Romanov told us we should let you know if we noticed anything odd.”

“And?”

“Well, Tony Stark called us, sir? And that’s odd?”

Bucky growls at the uniform and takes his phone out, dialing Tony. “You could have just called me?”

“Nat said that if the room was a-rockin’, I wasn’t supposed to come a-knockin’. So I sent someone else.” Tony sounds gleeful, and Bucky reminds himself that the least he can do in return is spit in Tony’s coffee next time. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Get to the point, Tony.” He seems movement in the corner of his eye and turns to see Steve pulling on a shirt.

“Well, Bruce and I have been analysing the blueprints, and we found something hinky.”

“Hinky.”

“You know the secret death room we found Zola in?”

“You mean the secret room that had been conveniently been left open for us?”

“Yeah, yeah. Well, it’s not the only one.”

“Secret death room?”

“Secret room. There’s two off of the lobby, and the basement has some seriously messed up schematics. I think that might be Schmidt’s hidey-hole. Also I ran through some of the shipping lines that Pierce has been known to use, and there have been two serious shipments that have come in to New York this week. Shipments with very interesting papers in that there’s absolutely nothing interesting about them.”

“One day I want you to speak English. No embellishments. No turns of phrase. Just straightforward.”

“Why would Pierce suddenly be importing a massive quantity of rugs? Two full shipping containers full. Of rugs. And, now, I’m not genius -- except how I am -- but I’m pretty sure that no one needs that many rugs and, even if they did, rugs wouldn’t weigh nearly as much as those shipping containers do.”

“Tony.”

“They ain’t shipping rugs, Sarge.”

“None of this does us any good. We don’t have a warrant. We don’t have grounds for a warrant. All we’ve got is theory and conjecture.”

“Sucks to be the good guys, doesn’t it? Don’t worry. I’m working on it.”

Bucky hangs up and shuts the door to Steve’s room, leaning back against the door and looking at him. Steve’s smile is small, just a slight curl of one side of his mouth. “Find something?”

“We found a theory which we can’t prove and we have no way to potentially prove it because we have no proof to prove that we need to prove it.”

“I have no idea what the conversation you just had with that guy was? But if he talks to you the way you just said that sentence, you guys are made for each other.” Steve smiles then laughs at what is, no doubt, Bucky’s horrified expression.

“Never say such a thing. Tony Stark is a horrible, horrible human being, and I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole.” Bucky sighs. “You think there are extra blankets in the closet?”

“I’m not sure; why?”

“Because I’m going to spend the night on your floor, just in case someone decides you’re too easy of a target and tries to take a shot at you. Because you’re an idiot who decided staying in the murder hotel was a good idea.”

“It’s close to work.”

“It’s close to… I can’t believe you.” Bucky fights his own smile and shakes his head. “You’re nothing but trouble, are you?”

“Nope. Nothing but.”

**

Bucky’s got his gun in his hand and he crawls to the end of the bed, keeping low as the door inches open. Light spills in from the hallway, but a large shape blocks a lot of it out. Bucky looks past the mattress and is about to say something when he sees Steve standing there, fully dressed.

He slips out of the room, closing the door behind him, all quiet enough that Bucky’s not sure what actually woke him. Bucky gets to his feet and follows Steve, just as quiet and twice as careful. Bucky waves back a uniform as she starts to come close, shaking his head. He keeps moving toward Steve, hanging back slightly as he goes into the stairwell.

“The hell are you doing, Rogers?” Bucky mutters to himself before moving again, slipping into the stairwell and making his way downstairs after he listens to the echo of Rogers’s steps and determines he’s going down, not up. He counts them and frowns as Rogers goes down past the lobby. Apparently Steve either knew or heard Tony’s information about the basement, and Tony’s words are loud in Bucky’s head as he draws his gun. Maybe Steve’s just curious. Maybe Steve suspects something. Maybe Steve’s actually part of all of this. 

There’s a voice in his head that reminds him that Rogers escaped unscathed. 

It still - always - sounds irritatingly like Natasha.

Bucky stops on the last landing and watches as Steve closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. and swipes a card across the dark-red light next to the door. It beeps softly, though it seems loud in the silence, and turns green, and Bucky can hear the door pressure give. Steve slips inside and Bucky has to rush to catch it before it closes. 

The hallway is sparsely lit, but the floor is clear, so Rogers moves easily. Bucky can hear voices in the distance, and Steve stops, tensing. One of the voices is flat and even, Pierce’s international businessman, Bucky would guess. The other has a slight accent Bucky assumes belongs to Schmidt.

Even in the shitty lighting, Bucky can see Steve’s shoulders tighten at Schmidt’s voice. His hands clench into fists, and it’s suddenly very clear that Steve isn’t here to join them. He’s here _for_ them, with the weight of at least three bodies on his conscience, even if their blood isn’t on his hands. 

Steve walks out with his fists clenched, and Schmidt follows Pierce’s gaze as he looks over at him. Schmidt claps his hands together once and smiles in what looks like delight. “Ah. Mr. Rogers. How good of you to join us. I’m so sorry your other friends weren’t able to be here.”

“Really?” Steve’s voice is devoid of emotion, though his entire body is tight with anger. Bucky can practically feel it radiating off of him. “With everything that’s been going on, I got the impression you were hoping I’d be in jail or too dead to join you.”

“Well, your insistence of being neither did rather thwart some of our plans, but I’ve often found improvisation leads to the very best results.” Schmidt comes forward slightly and suddenly Bucky sees him. His skin is even paler than in his pictures. “Come into the light, Mr. Rogers. I think I would like to see you when this plays out.”

Steve moves farther into the room, and Bucky edges closer, finally seeing Pierce. He’s sitting at a table with a gun next to his hand, but he’s relaxed. Whether he trusts Schmidt or trusts himself to handle him, Bucky’s not sure. Schmidt walks closer to Steve and it’s easy to see the gun at Schmidt’s waist. “Why?”

“Why are we doing this? Or why you?”

Steve’s hands relax and then clench again, matching the movement of his jaw. 

“Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead. That’s the saying, is it not?” Smiling, Schmidt shrugs and moves a step closer to Steve. Bucky tightens his grip on his gun as Schmidt’s hand moves, clearing his gun from the holster and pointing it at Pierce, not hesitating in the slightest before he puts a bullet through Pierce’s forehead. “I have what I want. It is finally in my possession to use as I see fit. As for the rest of it though, well, the torture was out of curiosity. And, really just for fun. I’ve always been interested in how people experience pain. How it changes them. Alters them. I wonder how much we altered you.”

Steve shakes his head, looking lost. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to understand, Captain Rogers. You merely need to still exist. All the other loose ends are tied up. All that’s left is you. Framing you for the murders would have been preferable, knowing you’d live your life behind bars for something you didn’t do, but accepting your punishment because you think you deserve it. You always were so weak. Funny, given your strength.”

“Why me? Why has any of this been me? What do you want?”

“I want nothing from you. Your unit stumbling in on us was simply good fortune” He walks toward Steve, grinning, and stands behind him, aiming the gun at Steve’s temple. “At the time you were an experiment. Zola was convinced we could remake you, but you were too broken. From the start. Too upstanding. Too good.” He sneers the last word. “But maybe he was right. Maybe you are useful. You couldn’t help being human, which has set the stage nicely, Captain. It won’t be hard for anyone to believe a suicide.” Steve shivers, and it’s the first involuntary move Bucky’s seen him make. Schmidt chuckles and Bucky’s hands itch to shut him up, his fingers itch to shoot. “And, well, the bomb. Nothing we can do about that.”

He pulls the hammer back and presses the muzzle against Steve. Bucky forces himself to breathe as he aims his gun. He hasn’t used a sniper rifle in years, but he may as well be sighting along one as he hones in on Schmidt’s hand and fires.

Schmidt jerks and the gun falls and Bucky fires again, this time hitting Schmidt in the shoulder. He’s too close for a third shot, but he stands next to Schmidt and stares down at him, gun pointed at his face.

“Get my phone. Call 911. Give them code 3255. Tell them Detective Barnes has a suspect in custody and we need the bomb squad here. Now.”

Steve doesn’t hesitate. He simply nods and takes Bucky’s phone from him and dials. He’s staring at Schmidt’s shattered hand, and Bucky knows that all of this will hit him soon. But in the meantime Bucky hears the 911 operator answer and Steve following his instructions. Bucky smiles down at Schmidt, though it’s more of a baring of his teeth. “Johann Schmidt? You’re under arrest.”

**

“Nazi gold.” Tony shakes his head. “Who the fuck has Nazi gold?”

“The New York Police Department does now,” Bucky sinks down in the chair next to Tony’s. “Two shipping containers full. Well, almost full. There actually were a few rugs.” 

The door to the unit opens and the sharp click of heels echoes through the room. All eyes turn to the woman walking directly up to Bucky. “Detective James Barnes?”

“Yes. Uh, ma’am. Yes, ma’am?”

“Pepper Potts. We spoke on the phone. I’m the D.A.”

“Yes. Ms. Potts. Hi. Hello. Yes.” He sticks out his hand to shake hers, managing to kick Tony at the same time.

“What was that, Mr. Stark?” Pepper leans in over the top of Tony’s monitor. 

“I said that he needed to keep his eyes in his head. Out of respect.”

“Hmmm. I thought you told him to keep it in his pants since what I have under my skirt isn’t the kind of thing he’s into.”

“I...Well. Yes. That might be more… accurate.”

“Well, all that aside, Detective. I’d like to talk to you if I may.”

“Of course.” He follows her to one of the interrogation rooms, flipping Tony off behind his back. He’s sure all of them are going to crowd into the listening room, but he imagines Potts is just as aware of it. 

“I’ll be frank with you, Detective. I’m concerned about this case. Mr. Schmidt has very good resources, any corroborating witnesses to this reported torture are dead, Mr. Rogers has a known history of suicidal tendencies. You can see how Mr. Schmidt’s lawyers could use this against us? Not to mention the fact that, out of everyone involved, Mr. Rogers has the best motive -- revenge.”

“He didn’t do it.”

“I have no doubt that Mr. Rogers is innocent. However, my job isn’t to convince the jury of Mr. Rogers’s innocence. That would be easy. The difficulty lies in proving Schmidt guilty of more than just Mr. Pierce.”

Bucky sighs and rests his elbows on the table, running his hands through his hair. “So you think we should...what? Try to cut a deal?”

“Well, personally, I’d like to see Mr. Schmidt rot in hell for an unlimited amount of time; however, since I can’t have what I want, I’m going to tell you what I think we can get away with. You’re not going to like it. Because Schmidt is just as likely to play the ‘tortured in the war’ card.”

“Shit.” Bucky slumps further, his hands linking behind his neck. 

“I’m sorry. I wish I had better news. I’m still working, but I didn’t want you to get your hopes up too high.”

“Of course not. Thank you.”

She nods and looks over Bucky’s head to the two-way mirror. “The connections you made were… quite intuitive leaps. Pity there isn’t some sort of documentation to correlate those theories.”

“He’s already half in love with you, you know.”

“Yes, I know. We’ll see how long the other half takes.” She winks at Bucky then gets to her feet. He gets up as well and opens the door for her, following behind as she walks back over to Tony’s desk. She puts two fingers on top of his monitor and smiles down at him. “Mr. Stark.”

“Yes?”

“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that I will disavow any knowledge of what you may or may not be doing.”

“No, ma’am.”

“And try not to have anything illegal traced back to you. Or your father. I imagine that would go very badly for his Mayoral campaign.”

Tony nods, watching her walk away. Bucky smirks at him, but Tony just shakes his head. “She’s a goddess. Like, bow down and worship at her feet.”

Sam pats Tony on the shoulder. “Your kinks are okay, my friend. Don’t let nobody tell you different.”

**

Bucky hasn’t seen Steve since the basement. All charges against him were dropped, and Bucky’s been up to his eyeballs in work. The headlines make it out like Bucky’s some kind of hero, and he does everything he can to ignore them even though his coworkers insist on hanging them up next to his desk. Natasha denies it, but Bucky knows she’s the one who hung the wire between the two supports that frame their desks so the rest of them could clip front pages to it, fluttering in the wake of the fan like clothes on a line.

Clint sets a jar on Bucky’s desk. Bucky doesn’t look up from his computer. “That better not have any human parts in it.”

“What about alien parts?”

“Natasha let you watch _In Search Of…_ last night, didn’t she?”

“Natasha doesn’t control me.” Bucky finally looks up, one eyebrow cocked. Clint huffs out his annoyance. “Fine. Yes. But it could be an alien body part.”

“There’s a strict no body-parts rule around here, remember?” Sam grabs the jar and holds it up to the light. “Is that a toe?”

“I’m trying to work,” Bucky reminds them as Sam tosses it over Clint’s head to Riley. “You’re officers of the law. Have some damn dignity.”

“My _reason_ for being here is that Natasha said we should all meet up at Carter’s for a drink. Let someone else be in charge for a while. We’ve earned it.”

“Did any of you actually do anything?”

“Hey!”

Bucky looks over. “Okay, Tony did something. For once.”

Tony looks somewhere between offended and pleased. Bucky turns back to his computer. “I need to get more done on this. We’ve got Schmidt dead to rights on killing Pierce, but I want those other five bodies pinned on him too. We just have to find out _why_ he started getting rid of everyone who was involved. And why he didn’t just go after Rogers directly, since he’s the only link that isn’t -- wasn’t -- on Schmidt’s side who was capable of saying anything against them.”

Clint looks from Sam to Riley. “Is this where we talk about the fact that he’s got a hard-on for Rogers?”

“All of you go away. Now.” Bucky stands up and grabs his jacket, tugging it on. “Rogers is involved with this case. That’s the _only_ thing he’s involved with. And if you guys are seriously so desperate for entertainment that you’re paying attention to my sex life, your lives are even sadder than mine.”

He heads out of the precinct and walks back toward the subway station, heading home. He doesn’t get far before he stops in front of the hotel. Glancing one way then the other, he jogs across the street and heads up to the first crime scene. 

Down the hall from the first crime scene.

Steve’s in the room he’d set up as an office, packing away all his things. Bucky leans on the door jamb and watches for a few minutes. Something about the set of Steve’s body makes it clear that he knows Bucky’s there, but he’s not about to say something.

“Job all done?”

“Hotel’s being sold. They’re going to redo the whole place, so my assistance is no longer required. Fortunately they paid me what the contract promised, even though I didn’t finish. Unforeseen circumstances prohibiting the completion of the job through no fault of my own. They even signed a form and had it notarized. In case I need a reference.” He closes his tool chest and turns to Bucky. “Not that ‘murder hotel’ is likely to go on my CV.”

Bucky laughs. “I can’t imagine why. Spice things up.”

“People aren’t looking for spicy when they hire me.” He glances around. “I’ve got to carry this stuff down to my truck. I’m supposed to be out by five today.”

“Need some help?” Bucky smiles, shrugging. “It’s the least I can do after accusing you of murder.”

“You never _charged_ me with it.” Steve hands Bucky his toolbox and then picks up two of his saws. The sleeves of his white t-shirt tighten around his biceps and Bucky steps to the side. 

“You want me to get these too?” He slides his free hand under the sawhorses and picks them up. “I mean, I have this fancy thing, might as well use it, right?”

“I don’t even think about you having that fancy thing. I just think of you as…”

“Thank you.” Bucky smiles again and jerks his head toward the door. “Lead on.”

**

Even in the dim lighting of the parking garage, Steve’s truck is bright blue beneath its covering of dust and caked mud. He sets the saws down and vaults into the bed, opening the metal box near the window. “Hand one of those up to me?”

“I want you to know, I’m terribly disappointed you didn’t do that with them in your hands.”

“I don’t mind impressing you, but I didn’t want to seem like I was trying too hard.” Steve takes one saw from Bucky, then the next, securing them in the box. He lays the sawhorses in the bed and then finally takes the toolbox. After closing up the box, he puts a hand on the side of the truck and leaps down. He steps back and is up against the truck right in front of Bucky.

Bucky licks his lips, unable to keep his gaze from darting down to Steve’s mouth. Shit. Shit shit shit. “You. Um.” He licks his lips again, leaving them damp and parted. “More? Is there more to get from upstairs?”

“Few things.” 

“You… I could help. If you still need some.”

“Sure.” Steve steps forward and he’s directly in front of Bucky, practically stealing the breath from Bucky’s lips. “If you don’t mind.”

“No. No minding.” He swallows hard and tilts his head slightly, eyes drifting closed. Heat is tight in his chest as he closes the distance between them, catching Steve’s lower lip between his teeth and tugging lightly. Steve’s huffs a breath into Bucky’s mouth and then Bucky releases Steve’s lower lip and kisses him, tongue sliding easily into Steve’s mouth.

Steve takes a step back and pulls Bucky with him. Bucky braces his hands on the side of the truck, even though he’s completely relaxed against Steve, chests pressed together. “Fuck,” Steve breathes. “Finally.” One of his hands settles in the small of Bucky’s back and the other catches the back of his neck. Steve tilts his head to change the angle of the kiss and Bucky shudders roughly. He steps closer, angling his knee between Steve’s legs. 

Steve’s exhale dances over Bucky’s damp lips before they’re kissing again, tongues sliding together, tangling as Steve curves his around Bucky’s and pulls it deeper into his mouth. Bucky flicks the tip along the roof of Steve’s mouth and Steve’s hips rock forward and he grinds down against Bucky’s thigh.

“Jesus,” Bucky groans. He pulls back from the kiss and then tilts his head further, moving down to plant a row of kisses from Steve’s solid jaw to the base of his throat. He bites at the tendon there then sucks on it, tongue swiping against the collar of Steve’s t-shirt. “So wrong.”

“Huh?” Steve sounds drugged, voice rough with want. 

“Glad there was a murder. Met you.” Bucky rakes his teeth over the tendon then bites harder. “Want… Fuck.”

Steve blinks at him as Bucky pulls away, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I…”

“I can’t. We can’t. Not until this case is completely put to bed. I don’t want anything to let Schmidt get off the hook.” 

“Right.” Steve blows out a rough and shaky breath. “Yes. Yeah.” He clears his throat and straightens up. He’s still too close to Bucky, still pressed up against him, but he’s not actively grinding down on him.

Bucky _really_ fucking misses that.

“So. I shouldn’t… For a while. See you.”

“Right.” He nods and sidesteps, ducking under the hand Bucky still has on the side of the truck. “I should get the rest of my stuff.”

Bucky nods, carefully not looking at him. “You’ll have to testify.”

“I know.” He knows Steve’s looking away. He can’t blame him. “It’s okay. If it… If it helps. My guys didn’t deserve to die like that. The ones over there and the ones over here. They sacrificed everything.”

Bucky clenches his fist, staring down at his left hand, slightly guilty for the ease he can move his arm, his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“I just want him to pay for that. I don’t care about what he did to me. And, even though it’s shitty, I don’t care what he did to his associates. I care that he pays for Tim and Gabe and Jim. For what he did to Phillips. To Hodge. It’s funny. You’d think I’d want him tortured. Make him pay like all of us did. But it won’t do anything. Change anything. I don’t even know if justice will make a difference.”

“It probably won’t.” Bucky’s voice is quiet and honest. “Nothing makes up for what you lose. It satisfies something, maybe. But they’re still gone. You’re still scarred. It just maybe makes you feel a little safer that that person isn’t out there, hurting someone else.”

“There are still others.”

“There are always going to be others, Steve. But that’s why there are guys like me. Trying to catch them. That’s why there are people who try to stop them before they start. And that’s why there are people like you, the ones doing everything they can to make it all better. A better place. A better world.”

“I build houses.”

“That makes a huge fucking difference to people. Not every hero wears tights and a cape. Hell, a lot of them don’t even wear a uniform.”

Steve sniffs and turns his head. Bucky looks back at him. “Thanks. It’s naive as hell, but thanks.”

“All part of the service.”

**

“If I could just find this damn thing, I could go home,” Sam grumbles as he digs through the papers on his desk. Bucky tosses a file in his direction and Sam glances at it before tossing it back to Bucky. “You got my hopes up.”

“Life is full of disappointment.”

“Riley, Bucky’s being mean to me.” Riley leans over Sam’s desk, holding his fist out for Bucky to bump. Sam punches Riley’s shoulder. “You’re _my_ partner. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Totally am, dude.” Riley goes back to his paperwork after stealing the file Bucky had tossed to Sam. “Totally.”

“I am a genius.” 

They all roll their eyes, not looking at Tony. Natasha looks at her watch. “It’s Tuesday. I thought he was a god amongst men on Tuesdays.”

“That’s Thursday,” Bucky rakes a hand through his hair. “He needs new material.”

There’s a loud thump as Tony dumps a pile of newspapers on Bucky’s desk. “I want you to first appreciate the fact that I did this to cater to your Luddite ways. Most people have computers and phones and access to the outside world that doesn’t require me to get my hands dirty with newsprint.”

“What the hell is this?” Bucky picks up one of the papers. “Holy shit.”

The rest of the team comes around the desk, and they all pick up a paper. Splashed across the front pages is the story of Schmidt’s Nazi ties, his role as a torturer, his affiliation with known enemies of state, his work with Zola on scientific techniques of control and subjugation. Multiple sources as well as leaked military documents provide proof, and there was a clear statement from Pepper Potts that the DA’s office has no intention of negotiating a plea bargain with Schmidt, that anyone who willingly tortured our Veterans doesn’t deserve consideration. 

“Holy shit,” Riley breathes.

“I’m going to marry her,” Tony announces. “I’m going to marry her and I’m going to have her babies. Possibly wear a French maid’s outfit.”

“Too much information.” Natasha snaps. “You’re going to pay for me having that image in my head.” She looks at Tony with narrowed eyes. “When you least expect it.”

“You’re a scary woman. How do you get dates?” She smiles, sharp and sly like a predator. Tony takes a few steps backwards. “Forget I asked that. Yes. Forget that.”

Bucky gets up from his desk. “I have to go make a call.”

Natasha smirks. “House call?”

Bucky ignores her and looks at Tony. “I owe you.”

“Aww. Don’t make me blush, Sarge.” His smile fades and he looks serious. “I’ve seen a lot with all the things old Howard’s been doing. I know I wasn’t over there, but it’s the very least I can do.”

“But you didn’t have to. So thank you.”

“You can pay my next tab.”

“Okay.”

“You sure?” His grin is back in full force. “You’ve seen how much I can drink, right?”

“Don’t even try to get me to say it again. And get back to work.” Bucky grabs his jacket and grabs a handful of the papers. “Don’t wait up.”

**

Bucky parks across from Steve’s house, staring in horror at the gathered crowd. The street is a mess of news vans, reporters like sharks outside on the sidewalk and the lawn. A few of them are shouting questions at Steve about Schmidt, about his torture, about his men. Callous questions -- if Steve wishes he’d been killed alongside his men, if he was complicit in the torture, if he knew. Bucky grips his steering wheel hard enough to hurt. 

He pulls out his cell phone and dials Steve. His hands are shaking, and he won’t be surprised if Steve doesn’t pick up. He must be just as inundated with calls. Bucky stares at Steve’s truck while the phone rings.

“Rogers.” His voice sounds weary and Bucky curses softly. 

“What can I do?”

“Arrest them all for trespassing?”

“I’ll call some uniforms out here to clear them out. Are you okay? Do you need anything? Booze? Street drugs? I have access to the evidence room.”

“Thai.”

“What?”

“Bring Thai food when they’re gone. And beer. If you can. I mean. I know the case…”

“Fuck that. I know a great place.” Bucky’s quiet for a minute. “Steve?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t want to stop this time.” The words hang heavily in the air, interlaced with Steve’s rough breath. “Is that…”

“Stop by the drugstore then. Not sure I have anything.”

Heat suffuses through Bucky and his groin tightens. “Call me? When they’re gone.” 

“Yeah.” Steve says quietly. “Hopefully soon.”

**

Steve opens the door before Bucky knocks, stepping back so that he’s not visible from the street. “They’re all gone?”

“Yeah.” He walks in and steps out of the way so that Steve can shut the door. Bucky sets the food on the table next to the door. “I’m guessing you’ve heard about today’s paper.”

“I think I got the gist from all the shouted questions. Do I have you to thank for that?”

“Not directly, no. My tech guy and the D.A. were more responsible. I guess I sort of helped get the ball rolling. We kind of all have a thing about innocent people going free.” Bucky shrugs. “That’s the rumor anyway. We don’t always get it right, but this time I think we’re going to manage it.”

Steve nods his head in the direction of the bag of food. “That’s dinner?”

“Yeah.”

This time he nods at the bag still in Bucky’s hand. “And that?”

“Dessert?” Bucky says softly.

Steve’s mouth curves in a knowing smile, and Bucky swallows. “You know what they say.” Steve reaches out and catches Bucky’s shirt in his fist and tugs him closer. “Eat dessert first.”

**

With one hand wrapped up in Bucky’s shirt and the other curved around Bucky’s head, Steve controls the kiss, putting Bucky where he wants him. Bucky goes willingly, letting himself be moved, angled, positioned so that Steve’s mouth covers his, tongue parting Bucky’s lips. 

Bucky groans softly as Steve’s tongue slides in, curving over Bucky’s before catching it to suck on. Bucky’s fingers curl at Steve’s hips, one finger of each hand hooked in a belt loop as he tugs him closer, the plastic of the drugstore bag crinkling in his grip. Steve goes easily, slipping a leg between Bucky’s so they’re against each other. 

Steve breaks the kiss and Bucky’s head falls back, exposing his throat, which Steve takes advantage of, his lips sucking the skin at the hollow of Bucky’s ear, teeth catching on it lightly before his tongue slips over the skin again. Bucky can’t help pushing down against Steve’s thigh, needing pressure and friction.

Steve’s mouth keeps moving down and then back up again, his breath tickling the damp skin of Bucky’s neck, against his ear. Shivers race down Bucky’s spine when Steve nears his ear and he’s caught between a laugh and a gasp when Steve’s teeth close on his earlobe. 

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky breathes as Steve’s teeth tighten, as he tugs and sucks and his breath is hot and too much. “Fuck. Fuck, yes.”

Steve hums and sucks slightly harder before releasing Bucky’s ear, moving down to his throat again. The sensitive skin feels like it’s humming under Steve’s mouth and teeth and tongue, blood heating up and coiling low in Bucky’s stomach when Steve’s teeth worry the tendon from Bucky’s neck to his shoulder. He unhooks his hands from Steve’s hips and slides them around to cup Steve’s ass and squeeze lightly, the sweet curve giving way slightly under the pressure. Hard, tight muscle clenches in Bucky’s hands, and he has to move, has to taste Steve again.

Steve’s lips are wet and they fit on Bucky’s perfectly. Bucky tries to get closer, wants their bodies touching everywhere they can. Their chests are flush and Bucky shifts slightly so he’s higher on Steve’s thigh, so the pressure is against his cock, his balls. Steve makes a low rumbling noise in the kiss and then he grabs Bucky’s ass, hoisting him up so he’s high enough to wrap his legs around Steve’s waist. 

“Christ,” Bucky moans, kissing Steve harder. “You sure?”

He gets another kiss in answer, mouth claiming Bucky’s, rough and possessive. His tongue fucks into Bucky’s mouth and he moans thickly. Steve’s hands tighten on Bucky’s ass, adjusting his grip as he starts moving. Bucky’s leg hits the table the food is sitting on, and his mind vaguely registers the sound of it falling, but his focus is caught on Steve -- his mouth, his hands, his body. And then he can’t focus at all as Steve lowers him onto the dining room table. 

“What…”

“Shut up,” Steve growls and kisses Bucky again. Bucky’s mouth feels swollen and hot, slippery slick from Steve’s kisses, from his own need. Now that he’s on the table, Bucky doesn’t have to put any effort or concentration on the actual physics of standing. He drops the bag beside him on the table and focuses on tugging Steve’s shirt from his jeans and pulling it over his head, letting it drop to the side quickly so he can get his hands back on Steve’s bare skin.

Steve’s hands trail along the waistband of Bucky’s jeans from the curve of his hips to his fly, working it open. He leans in and covers Bucky’s left nipple, tongue flicking across the hard nub as Bucky moans quietly. As his back arches off the table, Steve pulls Bucky’s slacks off, not moving his mouth from Bucky’s chest. His mouth is hot, tongue unrelently and Bucky’s breath hitches with each inhale.

“G-god.” His voice is thick, caught in his throat. “O-oh.” This time the word breaks when Steve's hand comes up and he pinches Bucky’s other nipple with two fingers. 

Bucky opens his legs wider, giving Steve room to move closer. Steve’s thighs brush against Bucky as he crowds in, his free hand clenching on Bucky's thigh. Blucky clutches at Steve’s hair, tugging hard. Steve bites Bucky’s nipple in response. Bucky tightens his fist and Steve moans, thrusting forward.

Pulling harder, Bucky brings Steve up and finds his mouth. The kiss is hard and desperate, Steve owning Bucky’s mouth, his tongue fucking past Bucky’s parted lips, sliding against his tongue, taking Bucky over.

When Steve pulls back, Bucky takes a gasping breath, his eyes focusing on Steve’s red, wet mouth. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, jerking Steve back down to bite his swollen lower lip. Steve’s breath huffs out as Bucky sucks at the bite marks he left behind, tugging on Steve’s lip as he pulls back.

“Want you in my mouth,” Steve breathes as he thrusts forward again, hard cock sliding against Bucky’s through the fabric of Steve’s jeans. 

“God, yes.” Bucky licks his lips and Steve groans before kissing him again, hard and deep. His hands grasps the fabric at Bucky’s hips as he pulls back. “Please. Fuck. Please, Steve.”

Steve growls -- fucking growls -- and Bucky’s not sure if it’s from him saying please or Steve’s name. Bucky raises his hips when Steve pulls back, easing Bucky’s underwear over his cock and under his ass. Once they’re to his knees, Steve lets them fall down to his ankles. Bucky works at kicking them off, but then Steve’s mouth is on his cock, and Bucky’s brain short-circuits. His hands find Steve’s shoulders and Steve hums around Bucky’s dick.

“Jesus…fucking…” Bucky gasps, thrusting up. Steve’s mouth surrounds him, sucking Bucky from base to tip before he slides his tongue across Bucky’s slit as he tightens his mouth at the crown before repeating the process in reverse. Bucky’s blood is pounding in his head, in his ears, in his cock, and he knows he’s saying something, but he’s not sure if it’s just noise or if he’s actually begging.

Whatever it is, Steve must like it, because he pauses to bury his nose in Bucky’s pubic hair before opening and closing his mouth, trying to take Bucky deeper. Now Bucky’s sure he’s begging, repeating Steve’s name like a mantra. Steve runs his fingernails along Bucky’s thighs, and Bucky recognizes a whimper coming from deep in his throat. 

He raises his head enough to see Steve looking at him through his damp lashes, his mouth slick with spit. He parts his lips and lets Buck watch him run the tip of his tongue along the vein on the underside of Bucky’s cock before sucking him back with his cheeks hollowed.

Bucky’s head falls back, hitting the table hard as his hips jerk up and he comes, his hand fisting in Steve’s hair and tugging the only warning he manages to give him. It doesn’t seem to matter, because Steve keeps sucking him, swallowing around him, not stopping until Bucky’s soft and overstimulated, gasping and using his foot against Steve’s hip to make him stop, to push him away.

Bucky can't stop trembling, can’t open his eyes as Steve moves up, his cock hard against Bucky as he steals Bucky’s mouth again, the taste of his come salty and bitter on Steve’s tongue between them. 

“Gonna fuck you.” Steve says it, and Bucky shivers roughly, overriding his still-trembling limbs. “Tell me you want that.”

 

Bucky grabs Steve’s head and kisses him like his life depends on it, and Bucky thinks it might. He wraps his legs around Steve’s waist, digging his heels into Steve’s tight ass to get him closer. “Fuck me,” Bucky says into Steve’s mouth, his voice hoarse. “Fuck, please.”

Steve’s smile is wicked as he pulls back. Bucky manages to raise onto his elbows, frowning as Steve sinks to his knees. His brow furrows when Steve grips Bucky’s thighs and pulls him closer to the edge of the table, Bucky’s sweaty skin sliding easily against the wood. 

“What are--” Bucky breaks off as Steve’s tongue traces the tight circle of Bucky’s hole. “Oh Christ. Oh Christ. Never… I’ve never… Oh, _Christ_ , Steve. Pl… Please.” He slips off his elbows, but somehow manages to get his feet on the table, opening himself up wider still. Steve uses his thumbs to spread Bucky’s ass, still circling Bucky’s opening, sending sharp thrills up his spine.

“Fuck, yes,” Steve breathes against Bucky’s damp skin before his tongue presses against the hole without breaching it. Bucky squirms, but Steve digs his fingers into Bucky’s ass and holds him still. 

Steve’s tongue slides in, and it’s like nothing Bucky’s felt before. Different than the cool, slick slide of lube, the ticklish run of spit from a blowjob or the pressure of a cock. It’s wet and slightly rough. It’s impossible to think, impossible to do anything but feel the hardness of the tip of Steve’s tongue, the stretch when he keeps it flat. 

His mind whirs helplessly, caught in a loop of realizing he’s being eaten out, that _Steve_ is eating him out, realizing that the seemingly straight-laced Greek god is fucking his tongue into Bucky’s ass like he’s desperate and hungry, like he can’t get enough of Bucky.

He closes his mouth around Bucky’s hole, his tongue buried deep and he sucks. Bucky’s hips come off the table again, and he realizes he’s thrusting down, fucking himself on Steve’s tongue. Steve pulls Bucky closer, and even though Bucky knows he’s not going to come again, his balls feel tight when Steve nudges them with his nose.

“Steve. Steve. Fuck. Please,” Bucky whines. “Need you. Need yo-your…” He chokes when Steve pulls back and bites the upper inside of Bucky’s thigh. “F-fuck. Fuck. _Please_.”

Steve stands and uses one hand to undo and shove his jeans and underwear down while the other one is busy upending the bag next to Bucky on the table. Bucky grabs the lube, fumbling with it while Steve tears the condom package open.

Bucky looks down at Steve and sucks in a breath. Steve’s cock is curved up to his stomach, the head wet. He’s long and thick, and Bucky practically rips the cap off the lube. Steve gives a husky chuckle that dissolves into a groan as he slides the condom on, pinching the tip. He rubs the head against Bucky’s opening and it takes every bit of restraint he has for Bucky not to pull him in, lube be damned.

Steve laughs again and Bucky’s cock twitches. Taking the lube from him, Steve squeezes some onto his fingers then presses them to Bucky’s hole. “Open enough for two?”

Bucky doesn’t care. “Yes.”

Steve pushes a little harder. “Sure?”

Bucky reaches down and grabs Steve’s wrist, pushing down against him as he guides Steve’s fingers forward.

“Christ, Bucky,” he breathes, but then his fingers are moving -- thrusting, scissoring, spreading, curving. Bucky digs his heels in and thrusts down in rhythm with Steve’s fingers pushing deep. 

Steve flicks Bucky’s nipple with his thumb and they both groan as he bucks up, clenching around Steve’s fingers.

“Want three?”

“Want your cock,” Bucky grinds out. “Need it. Now.”

Steve pulls his fingers free and Bucky gasps, suddenly hollow and empty. It aches, but it doesn’t last longer than the few seconds before Steve’s cock is there, pushing in slowly. It burns sweetly since Bucky’s not quite stretched enough, but all that blurs when Steve is inside him, buried and still.

And then he starts _moving_.

The first few strokes are slow. Steve pushes in deep and Bucky tightens around him, gasping roughly when Steve pulls back. Bucky clenches his ass, and Steve slides his arms under Bucky’s thighs, lifting them, and then suddenly he’s thrusting hard. 

Bucky can’t breathe, his body sliding with the force of Steve’s thrusts, moving back when Steve pulls him in. Bucky watches himself get fucked, staring as Steve’s cock as it slides in and out of him. He lifts his eyes up to Steve’s flushed chest and face. His eyes are closed, lashes dark on his cheeks. He lifts Bucky’s legs higher, guiding them over his shoulders. It changes the angle of his movements, and suddenly he opens his eyes, staring at Bucky as every nerve Bucky has catches fire, flaming out from the hard pressure against his prostate.

Steve leans in and sucks Bucky’s nipple again, and Bucky falls apart, too much stimulation, too much everything. “Oh, god. Please, Steve. Please. I can’t...fuck.” The last word is something between a gasp and a sob, pouring out of Bucky against his will.

“I’ve got you,” Steve pulls back enough to meet Bucky’s half-closed eyes. “I’ve got you, Buck.”

Bucky shudders, hips jerking like his body is desperate to come again as Steve keeps thrusting helplessly before groaning, slumping forward and resting his head on Bucky’s chest as his cock pulses inside Bucky.

Steve doesn’t move out of him, but he does guide Bucky’s legs down. Bucky tries to wrap them around Steve’s waist, but his body doesn’t respond, all of his muscles feeling like liquid. Instead they fall and hang off the edge of the table. 

“Okay?” Steve asks softly, voice rumbling.

Bucky thinks he nods, but he’s not 100 percent sure. “‘S’ long ‘s don’t have t’ move or think. Or breathe.”

Steve laughs, which makes Bucky’s body quiver in reaction. Steve straightens up, but still doesn’t pull out. He runs his fingers down Bucky's chest, over his sensitive nipples. Bucky moans helplessly as he clenches around Steve. Breath falling out of him, Steve closes his eyes and his back arches, pushing deeper inside Bucky.

“Stop. Please.” Bucky’s voice is scratchy. “‘M gonna pass out.”

Steve laughs and that sends more shudders through Bucky. “Not quite up to going again, but I appreciate your faith in me.” His fingers brush against Bucky’s hole as he grabs the condom and Bucky blushes at the noise it makes.

He turns his head, watching Steve dispose of it. He pulls a dish towel out of a drawer and turns on the water, testing it with his fingers before wetting the cloth and bringing it over to Bucky. “If you touch me with that thing, you’re going to fry my brain.”

“Could lick you clean.”

“I have a license to shoot you.”

“Mmm.” Steve purrs. “Next time wear the holster.”

“Motherfuck--” Bucky manages to grab Steve’s arm and jerks him down, kissing him hard. Steve breaks the kiss eventually, moving down to suck lightly at Bucky’s jaw line. Shivers run up and down Bucky’s spine and his cock twitches against his thigh. Steve hums as he works his way to Bucky’s throat, and Bucky finally fists his hand in Steve’s hair and pulls Steve away. Steve uses the distraction to press the warm cloth to the underside of Bucky’s dick.

“Not gonna hurt you.” Steve presses the words against Bucky’s shoulder with kisses as he moves the soft fabric over Bucky’s charged skin. “Relax.”

“Get any more relaxed and I’m gonna melt off this table.” He hisses, tensing as Steve’s fingers gently work the towel over Bucky’s perineum to his hole, the muscle fluttering at the touch. “Where the hell d’you learn this?”

“The Army.”

“You’re shitting me.” Bucky forces himself up on his elbows and cocks his eyebrow sharply. “I was in the Army, and that wasn’t part of Basic.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “It was actually my first time. Guess I’m a goddamned natural, huh?” Steve holds Bucky’s gaze seriously, but the corner of his mouth twitches.

“You are such a jerk.”

Steve steps back and wipes himself off. “C’mon, I’ve got something you can wear and a toothbrush. Then we can warm up the food.”

Bucky stands unsteadily, following Steve slowly since he has to hang onto walls and doorways to keep his balance. When he gets to the living room, Steve’s digging in his dresser, having already found and pulled on a pair of boxer-briefs. He throws a pair toward Bucky who catches it on instinct.

“Why is your dresser in your living room?” Bucky’s beginning to doubt his powers of observation, until he remembers that he didn’t see anything but Steve when he’d walked in. 

“Ttore out the bedroom carpet. I haven’t had a chance to work on it, and there’s still blood in the floorboards to sand out.”

“Shit. Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s fine. I’m redoing the house slowly anyway. The bedroom just got bumped up the list, that’s all.”

“Is that why--” Bucky gestures back toward the kitchen. “The table?”

Steve laughs low and warm, and Bucky feels it filling him up. “Nah. I just didn’t want to take the time to pull out the couch.”

**

Sleeping on a hide-a-bed is just as excruciating as it had been when Bucky spent his Christmas vacations at his grandparents’ house. Actually it’s worse, because he’s taller, broader, and this mattress is only about a half-inch thick. 

But much, much better because he wakes up half-sprawled across Steve, one leg between both of Steve’s and his hand resting in the middle of Steve’s chest. The boxer shorts hadn’t lasted long once they’d gotten into bed, both of them wanting to be pressed as close as possible to each other. 

Bucky’s dick is hard against Steve’s thigh, and Steve’s is curved up toward his stomach. He’s still asleep, so Bucky watches him for a few minutes, caught by the fall of his eyelashes and the line of his cheekbones.

“Mm. Can feel you staring.” His lips curve into a smile. “Kinda creepy, detective.”

“It’s only creepy if you don’t like it.” Bucky traces a small circle around Steve’s nipple, watching it harden. “Seems like maybe you do.”

“Maybe. Wonder if there’s a way to be sure.”

Bucky laughs throatily and flicks Steve’s nipple. He gasps and his head falls back, eyes closing. “Looks like evidence to me.”

“Yo-you’re the expert.”

“Maybe need something less circumstantial.” He trails his fingernails down Steve’s chest, over his firm abdomen to the hard jut of his cock. Bucky wraps his hand around him and strokes lightly. “This seems conclusive.”

Steve sucks in a rough breath. “ _Oh_.”

“Feel so good.” Bucky presses a kiss against Steve’s shoulder. “God, I want to wreck you.”

“Please.” Steve arches up into Bucky’s fist, shifting his legs open so Bucky can press closer. Bucky shifts higher, his cock sliding against Steve’s thigh. “B-buck.”

Bucky bites softly at Steve’s lower lip then pulls it into his mouth, sucking on it until Steve’s mouth opens. He slips his tongue inside and molds his mouth to Steve’s. Bucky shifts higher, and his tongue glides over Steve’s, teasing at his soft palate as Steve whimpers. Bucky keeps his hand moving, stroking Steve slowly. He rocks from side to side, not thrusting, but grinding into Bucky’s fist.

Bucky pulls back, catching Steve’s lip in his teeth again. Steve lets out a shaky breath and Bucky slides his hand up, grip tightening under the head, and tugging lightly. Steve shivers and Bucky swipes his thumb over the smooth head in response. Moaning, Steve rolls his hips up. Bucky moves his mouth to Steve’s throat, getting a taste of it just as his phone shrills loudly and the shock makes him clamp down hard.

Steve gasps and Bucky pulls away quickly, too quickly, and finds himself tumbling off the edge of the mattress, scraping his thigh against the metal frame and landing hard on his ass.

“Fuck.” He fumbles on the floor for his pants and his phone. He’s grateful he managed to release his grip on Steve. His phone is still ringing when he manages to find it even though he had to crawl halfway across Steve’s floor.

“Fuck. Barnes. What do you _want_?”

Natasha laughs, “Oh, Sarge. Did I interrupt something?”

“I fucking hate you. This had better be good.”

“What do you mean? I’m just calling to say hi.”

“ _Natasha_.”

“Aw. Did you get your sense of humor fucked out of you?”

Bucky looks over to where Steve is sitting up in the bed, watching Bucky over the back of the couch. He looks sinfully good, and Bucky wants to hang up the phone. “Nat.”

“Okay, okay. You were supposed to be here an hour ago. I’ve covered for you, but we’ve got a meeting in forty-five.”

“Shit.”

“Hurry up, Barnes. Need your tight ass down here.”

“I’m not a tight ass.”

Steve coughs, his eyebrow lifting. Bucky points at him before he has a chance to say anything. He hangs up and Steve’s smile dissolves into a laugh. “I don’t know if you _are_ a tight ass, but you have an exceptional one.”

Bucky flips him off. “I’m stealing your underwear.”

“That’s a crime. I’m gonna call a detective.”

Bucky searches the room for the rest of his clothes, tugging them on when he finds them. He’s got his shirt and one sock on. “I’ll see if I can send one over.”

Steve moves so he’s kneeling, leaning over the couch arm closest to Bucky. His gaze follows up Bucky’s legs as he tugs his pants on, then he rakes them over the rest of Bucky’s body. His slacks are undone, his shirt untucked and unbuttoned and, with the look on Steve’s face, it takes way more effort than it should not to strip it all off and climb over the back of the couch to Steve. Steve reaches out and traces the dark hair that trails down Bucky’s abdomen. “How late do you work?”

“Eight. Then I have the next two days off before flipping to the night shift.”

He nods. “Well, um.” A soft blush creeps along Steve’s skin. “I’m going to be working on the bedroom today, so I’ll be home. Tonight.”

“You don’t have to give me an alibi until after.” Bucky finishes buttoning his shirt and leans in, bracing himself on the back of the couch and brushing his lips against Steve’s. “How do you feel about pizza?”

“Mostly good feelings. As long as there isn’t any fish. Or fruit.”

Bucky kisses him this time, mouth closed but lips firm. “I’ll see you tonight. Corroborate your alibi.”

Laughing, Steve reaches up and combs Bucky’s hair with his fingers. “You smell like sex and sweat.”

“Whose fault is that?” Bucky teases against his lips before pulling back with a sigh. “Guess next time I’ll have to set my alarm.”

**

Natasha starts laughing the minute she sees him. He ignores her and walks to the coffee pot, pouring himself a mug. “Where’s Coulson?”

“In his office. He’s in the middle of arguing with Commissioner Kirby, so we have a little bit of a reprieve. Which you should definitely use to shower. You smell like a whorehouse in the sun.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You’ve got no room to talk, Bucky-boy. Go shower while I do my best to get the thought of you getting some out of my head.”

He sets his coffee on the desk and heads for the door. As he walks past her, Bucky grabs Natasha’s arm and tugs her in close. “Didn’t just get some. Hit the jackpot.”

“I’m going to tell Tony to tell his dad you did naughty things with the prosthetic he made for you.”

“One -- Tony would never forgive you, and we need his help on cases. Two -- I’ve met Howard Stark. If he heard that, he’d be thrilled and ask me some questions about performance and improvements.”

“Ugh. You’re right.” She wrinkles her nose. “Boys are so gross. Go. And use soap.”

**

He doesn't get off work until midnight, caught up in a new case because Natasha answered the goddamned phone. Fortunately, she’s the lead since he’s going to be dealing with Coulson and Potts while they deal with the political fallout from Pierce’s death. The man had friends in high places who are suddenly very worried about covering their own asses after realizing their golf buddy was affiliated with a crazed neo-Nazi.

He hides his yawn with his notebook, but the twitch of her mouth makes it clear he didn’t fool Natasha. She heads back toward him after thanking the officer she’d been talking to. “How on earth can you be tired. You were late.” Her voice is dry as dust. “Surely you slept in.”

“I am almost two hours and a pizza late.” He’d texted Steve when they’d caught the case, and gotten a response, but he’s still not sure what kind of reception he’ll get when he finally does get to Steve’s. “We’re going to end up working tomorrow, aren’t we?”

“Nope. Department-wide crackdown on hours. Which you’d know if you’d gotten in early enough to read your email.”

“Yes, I was late. Yes, I was distracted last night and didn’t set my alarm. Yes, I had the most _amazing_ sex of my life. Can we drop it now?”

She pauses and tilts her head as if considering it. “No. Anyway, no overtime. I’ll have the beats work on physical evidence and let Clint work his magic.”

“You guys talk about dead bodies in bed, don’t you?”

“Wow, Barnes. Is that seriously what you think heterosexuals do?”

The flips her off and slumps down in his seat. “I just really want some pizza.”

“Yeah. Pizza’s totally what you want.” She wiggles her eyebrows as she looks at him. “Do you want to get something on the way back to the station?”

“No thanks. Steve said to come over as late as I want. He’s got pre-made pizza to cook.”

“I don’t even know what to do with that information. He’s waiting up for you to get home and he’s going to feed you. That’s so sweet.”

“Shut it.”

“Is he your boooooooyfriend?”

“Right now he’s the guy that’s going to feed me and, to be honest, at this point in time that’s all I care about.”

“That and finishing whatever I interrupted this morning.”

He groans and drops his head back against the seat. “I hate you so much.”

“Tell you what. To make it up to you for lost dick-sucking--”

“You are _not_ sucking my dick.”

“Ew. No. I was going to offer to buy you a six-pack, but now I’m feeling sick to my stomach and not generous at all.”

“You _owe_ me a six-pack. You owe me a case of beer. You’re an excellent judge of character and physique and you’ve seen Steve, and I had him _naked_.”

“I’m very proud of you, but I’m not shelling out for more than a six-pack. But, because I’m a good and giving person, I’ll buy something fancier than Natty Ice. How’s that?”

He thinks for a minute then nods. “Fair.”

“Though if it took you until this morning to get him naked, I’m so so very disappointed in you.”

It’s another two hours before Bucky knocks on Steve’s door, slightly nervous since it’s just past midnight. He’d run home to get some clothes, then gotten soaked in a sudden rainstorm on the way from his condo to his car, and then there’d been a traffic accident. Bucky’s tired, cranky, wet, and hungry and he wants to see Steve more than he wants to admit, even to himself.

Steve opens the door and Bucky’s about to apologize, but his mouth snaps shut from the combination of Steve’s smile and the fact that he’s wearing a pair of boxer briefs and nothing else. “Hey. You’re probably hungry.”

Bucky swallows and nods. He moves inside and shuts the door behind him before going down on his knees and grinning up at Steve. “Very.”

He pulls Steve’s boxers down and takes him into his mouth. Steve isn’t hard, but his cock is stiffening as he stares down at Bucky. He sucks on Steve, working him with his tongue, his lips tightening around Steve’s cock as it fills out. Steve reaches out and grabs the door jamb and braces himself as he smiles. “H-hello to you too.”

Bucky hums, the closest he can get to a laugh, and sucks harder, deeper. Steve’s cock edges toward the back of Bucky’s throat and Bucky catches him between his tongue and the roof of his mouth to keep him still. Steve’s breath catches and Bucky grabs his hips, curving his hands around them and holding Steve in place.

Steve’s free hand rakes through Bucky’s hair, scratching at his scalp as Bucky relaxes his mouth and urges Steve’s hips forward. Steve’s hand falters for a moment then he resumes combing his fingers through Bucky’s hair, the still damp strands tangling around them occasionally. He keeps his hold on Steve’s hips, not letting the slow rhythm change.

Opening his mouth, Bucky pulls back. Steve lets out a soft, annoyed noise as his cock slides out of Bucky’s mouth, but Bucky noses at him, pushing his dick toward his abdomen. He licks the length then tilts his head and catches the frenulum lightly between his teeth. 

Steve chokes on a gasp and his hips jerk as if he’s unsure if he wants to get closer or pull away. Bucky’s grip on his waist keeps him from doing either and Bucky flicks his tongue over the stretched-tight skin.

”Jesus, Buck.” Steve breathes, his voice sounding reverent. Bucky sucks until Steve makes a desperate noise, then he pulls away just enough to wrap his mouth around Steve’s cock again. He looks up and Steve’s eyes are locked on Bucky, falling from the strands of hair flopping loosely over Bucky’s forehead where they’re not pasted to his skin with sweat, to his eyes, to his mouth. His gaze is hotter than anything Bucky’s ever seen before, and he has to pull away to catch his breath.

“I want…” He has to stop to swallow, to breathe. His voice is rough. “I want you to fuck my mouth like you fucked me last night.”

Steve makes an inarticulate noise, and his voice is thick. “You sure?”

Bucky kisses the tip of Steve’s cock, the string of pre-come trailing to his mouth as he pulls away. It snaps and Bucky puts a finger against his lower lip, dragging it across the surface before sliding it into his mouth to suck. Steve’s eyes flare with hunger as Bucky pulls the finger out slowly, dragging it down as he does to open his mouth wide.

Steve mutters “fuck,” like a prayer and cups his hand around the back of Bucky’s head, pulling him in while he uses his other hand to grab his cock and guide it into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky hums as Steve pushes it in, keeping his eyes open and on Steve’s face until his cock rests on the back of Bucky’s tongue. Closing his eyes, he swallows and releases Steve’s hips.

Steve groans low and his fingers press harder on Bucky’s head, pulling him in to meet Steve’s forward thrust. He pushes to Bucky’s throat and Bucky gags slightly. Steve pulls back as Bucky swallows again, effectively holding Steve as deep as he can take.

“Yeah,” Steve says, voice rough. “Yeah. All right.”

Bucky presses his tongue up and Steve’s free hand touches Bucky’s face lightly, thumb brushing away a tear from the corner of Bucky’s eye. Bucky blinks to dispel any others caught in his lashes when he gagged.

“You good?” Steve asks. Buck sucks and Steve gives a broken laugh. Bucky feels Steve’s knees tremble as he starts thrusting again.

Steve fills Bucky’s mouth and he can feel the pulse of Steve’s blood. It’s hot on Bucky’s tongue and the wet, messy slide of spit trails down his chin, easing the way for Steve’s thrusts. Steve moves both hands to the sides of Bucky’s head and guides him. Bucky’s lips are stretched wide, almost painful, but he wants more, deeper. He urges Steve faster and harder, wants to feel him again at the back of his throat.

Steve fucks him like he owns him, and Bucky’s riding the edge of his orgasm just from the thought. Steve’s voice is raw as he repeats Bucky’s name, stumbling over it each time. Bucky presses the heel of his hand hard against his own cock, hoping the spark of pain will keep him in control.

This time when Bucky grabs Steve’s hips it’s to pull him in rather than keep him away. He wants him closer, so much closer. He slides his hands around to Steve’s ass, squeezing and rubbing. It’s tight muscle and a perfect fit in Bucky’s hands. Steve whines, hips jerking. Bucky pulls back to the head of Steve’s cock and then sucks him in, pressure to bring him closer, until Bucky’s mouth brushes Steve’s skin at the base of his cock.

Steve shudders and falls forward, catching himself with both hands on the door. His thighs are tight and hard as he stops moving, letting Bucky take him deeper as he sucks Steve down.

Bucky keeps swallowing until Steve’s body slumps forward even more. He looks down as Bucky looks up, letting Steve’s cock slip messily out of his mouth and down his chin. Steve’s pupils are huge and his face is slack with pleasure.

“Pizza?” Bucky’s voice doesn’t sound anything like him.

Steve sinks down, knees on either side of Bucky’s legs as he settles on his thighs. “Depends.”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s fingers brush stray hairs away from Steve’s damp forehead as he kisses him. “On what?”

“I could take care of this for you.” Steve traces his finger along Bucky’s fly over the hard bulge of his erection.

“And how would you do that exactly?” 

“Could suck you. Ride you.”

Bucky shivers. “You… You like it?”

“Getting fucked?”

Bucky swallows audibly, a little overwhelmed. Steve’s eyes follow his bobbing Adam’s apple. “Y-yeah. Thought you only…”

“Hey.” Steve leans in and his breath ghosts warmly on Bucky’s throat. “You want to fuck me, Bucky?”

“Fuck. Fuck, yes.” He ducks his head and catches Steve’s mouth. Pulling him in with a tight arm around Steve’s waist, he leans back and Steve follows him down. Bucky rolls them over, pinning Steve to the ground. “Where’s the stuff?”

Steve smiles slowly, tugging one of his hands free to guide it down between his legs. Bucky’s brain whitess out when his fingers brush over Steve’s hole. He’s slicked up, the muscle of his hole stretched, the furled skin fluttering when Bucky touches it. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Steve.” Bucky can’t breath, can’t think. He acts on instinct, slowly pressing two fingers inside Steve. He arches his back and Bucky’s fingers go deeper. He stares down at Steve, unable to look away, and all he can picture is Steve opening himself up, waiting for Bucky. Working himself up. Bucky thrusts deeper, easing a third finger in.

Steve’s breath stutters. He struggles under Bucky, make a sound of relief as he spreads his legs wider, obviously now free of his boxers. Steve pulls his heels up to his ass, angling his hips to push down onto Bucky’s fingers.

“Need to watch you do this to yourself.” Bucky swallows around the lump in his throat. “How many fingers?”

Steve clenches around him, against the penetration. “Four.”

Bucky drops his head to Steve’s shoulder. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

“Do it.”

Bucky shudders hard and pulls his fingers almost out. He tucks two fingers behind the others and steadily slides them into Steve. Every muscle in Steve’s body goes hard as steel as his ass clamps around Bucky’s hand. He keeps the hand itself still, but slowly spreads his fingers until they’re finally stretching him wide. Steve’s breathing fast, his body bathed in sweat. Bucky licks the hollow of Steve’s throat, salt on his tongue. He spreads his fingers as wide as he can as he pumps them inside -- in and out and wide then closed. Steve’s hips keep rolling up and he’s gasping, saying Bucky’s name, asking for more.

“Not enough lube for more,” Bucky scrapes Steve’s collarbone with his teeth. “Want more? Want five?”

Steve makes another noise that burns itself into Bucky's brain. The thought of burying himself in Steve, taking apart with his fingers and fist is almost enough to push him over the edge, but he presses his thighs together to try to stay in control.

“Need. Jesus, Steve. Tell me you have a condom. Please.”

“Table.”

Bucky moves onto his knees and grabs a condom off the table they’d knocked over the night before. He feels the square and tears the packaging. He has to free his fingers which he thinks bothers him as much as Steve. He misses the tight heat instantly. Hurrying to get the condom on, he drags it up his cock and shudders. “D’you have more lube?”

“Just do it. C’mon, Bucky.”

He presses his cock to Steve’s opening, pushing in as slowly as he can, which isn’t nearly as slowly as Steve probably needs. Steve wraps his legs around the back of Bucky’s thighs as if it doesn't matter and pulls him in close. 

Bucky braces himself over Steve, staring down at his flushed face. His eye seem bluer in contrast and Bucky kisses him hard. Away from the manic desperation of the night before, Bucky lets himself feel the rough tickle of Steve’s beard against his face. Steve bites Bucky’s lower lip hard and quick. “You need an engraved invitation?”

Bucky’s smartass reply is cut off when Steve digs his heels into Bucky’s legs and arches up, clenching around him. His coordination means Bucky’s clearly not doing his job, so he thrusts deep, pushing Steve back against the floor. The feel of Steve’s body moving with him, against him, keeps Bucky in motion. He lowers himself to his elbows, snapping his hips forward so he can drive deeper.

Steve hitches his leg higher, right beneath Bucky’s ass and urges him even closer. Bucky strokes Steve’s hair back with one hand and kisses him again. He refuses to break the kiss, letting his hips keep rolling against Steve's as time stops or expands, stills until it’s just them. This. He sinks into Steve again and again, filling him. Steve’s eyes are closed, his mouth open between kisses. Bucky can’t close his eyes, can’t look away. Steve’s lips are cherry red, bitten and swollen.

Bucky groans low and he can’t help himself, can’t stop, can’t hold back. He lifts up from his elbows to his hands so he has better leverage. Steve’s head falls back and he moves his legs higher on Bucky’s back. Everything shifts and Bucky slides impossibly deeper. 

They both moan and Bucky curses low, giving up on trying to stay in control. His knees move tighter against the back of Steve’s thighs so he can hold him even closer as Bucky fucks into him hard. He comes, thrusting in and holding himself still for just a moment before he starts moving again.

Steve buries his fingers in Bucky’s hair and raises himself up. His mouth covers Bucky’s, causing Bucky to shudder. He’s out of his head and Steve is suddenly like a vice around him. It seems like forever and not long enough as Steve slumps back down to the floor, breathing hard. Bucky follows him down, managing to catch himself on his elbows rather than crushing Steve.

Bucky exhales roughly. “Fuck.”

“We’ve got to stop doing this on hard surfaces.”

Bucky nods and laughs against Steve’s mouth. “You know, I have a real bed at my place. Actual mattress. Pillow-top even.”

“Obviously we’re paying our civil servants far too much.”

Bucky plants a kiss on the tip of Steve’s nose before working his way down to Steve’s jaw, scraping his teeth against it, tugging on the beard hairs. “I have a whole lot of lube.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve done this. Not sure I’m going to be up for round two all that soon.”

“Lucky for you I’ve had a day of rest.” He moves his mouth back up, catching Steve’s earlobe and sucking on it before whispering low. “Come home with me.”

“You have an oven?”

“Yes?”

“Go grab the pizzas. I’ll get some clothes.”

**

Stuffed with pizza, they fall into Bucky’s bed. Bucky laces his fingers with Steve’s and turns his head to look at him. “Have you talked to your lawyer lately?”

Steve frowns. “Is this your version of pillow talk?”

“You’re going to get called to the stand in Schmidt’s case.”

“Okay, if you want to talk about this, we’re getting out of bed.” Steve pulls away and, even worse, pulls on his boxer-briefs. “Maybe shop talk in bed is your thing, but I’m not really interested in having a discussion about murder where I sleep. I have enough fucking nightmares as it is, thanks.”

Bucky groans and lets his head bounce on the pillow before getting up himself and tugging on a pair of sweats. Steve’s on the couch, bent over with his elbows on his knees and his head bowed. “Okay, so I normally don’t act like a dick until at least the fifth date.”

“You were a dick the first time I met you. You know, when you pretty much accused me of murder?”

“We… Kinda got off on the wrong foot.” He comes over and sits next to Steve, bumping their shoulders together. “I haven’t done this in a while. And absolutely never once with a former suspect.”

“Why? Not a great dating pool?”

“No. Not as much as you might think.” He slips his arm under Steve’s and catches his hand, fingers slotting together. “Most of the people who get accused of murder don’t turn me on.”

“Most, huh?”

“Don’t let this go to your head, but you’re actually the first.” Turning his head, he drops a kiss on Steve’s shoulder. “Feel lucky, punk?”

“Fucking glad you guys don’t still think I’m guilty.” He tilts his head so he can look at Bucky. “I was so pissed that you were hot. I was really trying to hate you.”

“Well, thank goodness for my dashing good looks.”

Steve squeezes his hand; then, after a few moments of silence, he sighs. “No. I haven’t talked to Nick. Should I?”

“Probably. You’re going to be called in unless we can stop it from happening. They’ll use the torture against you. Say you’re framing him, that you came back from the war and the mission unscathed.”

“Unscathed.” His voice is flat and dry. 

“Not what I think. Just what they’ll say.”

“I know. I just wish I could show them the inside of my head. My heart. Nothing in there is unscathed.”

Bucky angles his head up and kisses Steve’s temple. “This though. You and me.”

Steve’s laugh actually hurts Bucky, sounds like it might hurt Steve as well. “Is this where you tell me we’re a bad idea?”

“This is where I tell you Pepper Potts is probably going to kick my ass if anyone finds out about us. You’re my witness that Schmidt killed Pierce.”

“But I’m a compromised witness to him.” 

“Well, that’s hopefully going to be the thing that keeps her from flaying me alive. Doesn’t mean I’m getting off scott-free.”

“Should I apologize?”

Bucky looks at him seriously. “Are you sorry?”

With a shake of his head Steve laughs. “Not a bit.”

“Then no. Apologies are like alibis. Never give one if you’re not guilty.”

“You literally asked me directly for an alibi even though I wasn’t guilty.”

“Well shit. Forget that then.” He grins. “Kiss me.”

“Bossy.” Steve does, taking his time. Bucky hums against his mouth, parting his lips at the slight pressure of Steve’s tongue. It lasts, slow and exploring. Bucky doesn’t even remember the kiss breaking when he realizes he and Steve are just a breath apart.

“Complaining?” Bucky whispers.

Steve answers him with another kiss, bringing his thumb up and sliding it over Bucky’s cheek. “C’mon.” He stands up and uses their joined hands to tug Bucky to his feet. “I want to see if this mattress is as good as you say it is.”

**

Bucky reaches out to smack his phone off the nightstand to shut up it. Steve’s lying between his legs, torturing Bucky with long, lazy licks along his cock, the tickle and scrape of his beard on Bucky’s inner thighs when he turns his head to rub and nip at the sensitive skin. 

The phone rings again and Bucky lets out a low whine. “Fuck. Steve. It’s work. I’ve got to…”

“Not stopping you.” Steve lips move over Bucky’s skin slowly.

“Asshole.” Bucky grits out as he grabs his phone. “What the fucking fuck do you w-want?”

“Good morning to you too, Sarge.”

“It’s my -- Holy fuck.” Bucky’s hips jerk up as Steve sucks the head of Bucky’s cock in his mouth. “Hom-homici-cide, Steve.” He stutters. “De-death. Fuck.”

Sam literally cackles. “You guys! Sarge is gettin’ some!”

Steve pulls off, grinning as he rests his hand on Bucky’s thigh and settles his chin on top of it.

“No, I’m fucking _not_ , Wilson,” Bucky snaps. “Because you assholes keep fucking calling me.”

“Man, and we thought you were testy when you were celibate.”

“What do you _want_ , Sam?”

“Cyanide capsule!” He hears Tony yell in the background. “First Nazi fucking gold and now a goddamned _cyanide_ capsule. Do you _believe_ that shit?”

Bucky closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He’s going to get arrested by Natasha for killing the rest of the detective squad. “Put Riley on.”

“Shut up, Stark! I won! Rock beats scissors!”

Steve is laughing. Fucking laughing. Bucky grabs a hunk of Steve’s beard and tugs lightly. Steve gives him a mock glare before sliding his lower lip out into a pout. “Hate you,” Bucky mouths. Steve’s pout gets bigger and he bats his eyelashes at Bucky. Bucky gives in and smiles, flicking Steve’s nose with his finger.

“Yo. Sarge. You there?”

“Shit. Um, yeah. Riley, you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“You really oughta come in for this one. Ms. Potts is on her way.”

“Why can't this happen when I’m actually _on_ duty? Why does it always happen when I’m…”

“Romanov’s coming in too.”

“Be there in twenty.” Bucky sighs as he hangs up, banging his skull against the headboard. “I’m being cockblocked by the goddamned NYPD.”

“Work, I take it.”

“Yeah. And Nat and Ms. Potts, the D.A., are both going to be there, so I have to go in.”

“Did I hear someone yell something about a cyanide capsule?”

“Stark. Which probably means someone took an aspirin or something.”

Steve nods then gets up on his knees. Bucky can’t help looking at him, memorizing every inch of skin he wants to touch and taste. With a quick smile, Steve leans in and kisses him. “I’ll get out of your hair so you can go to work.”

“No. Don’t.” Bucky sits up so he’s just a few inches away. “Stay. I mean, I’ll call you if it’s going to be a long time, but I’d like to come home and hang out. We can watch a movie. Have spaghetti or chili or something. Something easy. If you want, that is.”

“I’d like that. But I don’t want you to mess up your work worrying about getting home.”

“I’ll call if I’ll be late. We don’t even have to have sex.” He wants Steve there when he gets home, more than he wants to admit. “Just hang out.” Steve raises an eyebrow and Bucky huffs in annoyed exasperation. “We _can_ have sex. I just have no sex-pectations. Or sex-objections.”

Steve puts his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. He looks him in the eye. “Go to work. You’ve got about ten minutes now.”

“Fuck.” He gets out of bed and tugs some clothes on. Steve stretches out naked and Bucky glares at him. “I should arrest you.”

“Mmm. Gonna cuff me and drag me to the station like this?”

“Menace to society.” He grasps Steve’s hair and kisses him hard. He lets him go and grabs a dress shirt out of his closet and tugs it on. “For the record,” he throws over his shoulder as he leaves the bedroom. “I’m also totally okay if you want to be just like that when I get home.”

**

Tony is practically vibrating when Bucky comes into the station. He’s pacing the length of the room, talking to himself, and waving his hands. Bucky avoids him and heads to his desk. Sam comes in from the break room and, when he sees Bucky, hurries over to him.

“Now will you tell me what’s going on?”

“Wait until Nat and Ms. Potts are here.”

“Sam!”

“Trust me.” He nods toward the door. “Not long now.” Bucky looks up to see Natasha just a few steps behind the D.A, her soft-soled shoes accented by the sharp clip of Pepper’s. Pepper walks over and puts a well-manicured hand on the back of Sam’s chair. She taps her other index finger against the desk, the sound of her fingernail just as precise as that of her shoes.

Sam turns his computer screen to Pepper. She concentrates for a moment, then her eyes widen and her eyebrows shoot up. “Does that say what I think it says?”

“Cyanide capsule!” Tony yells again. “What is this? World War Two?”

“Wait.” Bucky grabs the computer screen and swings it toward him. “He was serious about that?” He reads the notice then clicks on the jailhouse video, watching it through twice. He automatically looks for glitches or blips that might indicate the video’s been tampered with even though, if Tony’s this upset, he’s obviously verified that it’s genuine.

“He wasn’t kidding about that whole Nazi thing, was he?” Natasha moves around to stand behind Bucky. “And I thought Russians were dramatic.” She puts her head on Bucky’s shoulder. “So what does this mean for us, Pepper?”

“It means he just saved the people of New York a lot of money.” She shakes her head. “I assume the defense has been notified?”

“Yeah. And once they officially confirm the video, it’ll prove he acted all on his own. And, you know, innocent people usually don’t have a cyanide-filled hollow tooth,” Tony reminds them. “Pretty sure it’s always just the bad guys.”

“Well, either way, it’s out of our hands, and I think you can close your case, Detective,” Pepper says. “I’ll notify Fury so he can tell Rogers he’s off the hook.”

Sam snorts a laugh. Bucky glares at him, and Pepper raises a perfect eyebrow in his direction. “Did you jeopardize my case, Detective Barnes?”

“He was already a compromised witness, ma’am.”

“Hmm.” Pepper shakes his head at him. “Cyanide might have just saved your ass.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And if you _ever_ do anything like this again, I’ll do my very best to make sure the closest you’ll get to being a Detective is reading Hercule Poirot novels.”

Bucky clears his throat and nods, eyes wide. “Yes, ma’am.”

Tony stares at Pepper with pure admiration in his eyes. Or lust. Or both. Either way, Bucky’s pretty sure Tony’s got a hard-on from Bucky being put in his place very smoothly by Pepper. Bucky rolls his eyes, but Tony ignores him. “Miss Potts. Pepper. May I call you Pepper? No? Ms. Potts? Let me walk you to your car.”

Pepper lets a hint of a smile curve her lips. “Actually, I think Detective Barnes and Romanov are heading out. I’ll walk with them, thank you.”

Tony glares at Bucky, but Bucky just smiles. He gets up and moves around his desk, leaning in close to Tony. “Cyanide.”

**

Steve’s stretched out on Bucky’s bed asleep. He’s naked with the sheet pulled over him, though it’s fallen to his hips. Part of it has fslipped between his legs, one thigh exposed. He has one hand splayed low on his stomach and his other arm thrown over his head. Bucky stops in the doorway and stares for a long moment, drinking Steve in.

“Still creepy,” Steve murmurs with a smile, slowly opening his eyes.

“That’s what you get for looking like a work of art. No one to blame but yourself.”

Steve’s eyes narrow slightly and he rises up on his elbows. “Everything okay?”

Bucky nods and comes into the room, undressing on his way to the bed. “Schmidt is dead.”

“What?” 

“Killed himself.” Bucky can’t read Steve’s expression. He sits on the bed and leans in, kissing Steve softly. “Cyanide capsule if you can believe it. Not something we look for, even in a strip search.” He’s quiet for a moment, just looking at Steve. “You okay?”

“Yes? No? I thought he _was_ dead. Not sure I’ll ever believe it again.” His voice fades, soft and unsure. “They’re all dead.”

“All of them.”

“No. Not just them. All of my men. I’m the only one left, and I don’t know why. Why me? Why did they torture them and make me watch? Why don’t I have a mark on me?”

“Because they knew that wasn’t the way to hurt you. They could see that your own pain doesn’t matter to you. Their pain did.” He wraps a hand around Steve’s neck and pulls him in, their foreheads pressed together. “And you’re going to do good things. You’ll let that fuel you. You’re going to help a lot of vets. You’re a good man. That’s why they wanted to break you.”

“That and they’re Nazis and I look like the Aryan ideal?”

“In this case I can, without even a shred of trying to make you feel better, honestly say that this is actually proof that looks aren’t everything, and it’s what’s on the inside that counts.”

“That was so corny.”

“Yeah, well.” He takes a deep breath and looks Steve in the eyes again. “Let me get into bed, and I’ll make it up to you.”

**Author's Note:**

> For reference:
> 
>  
> 
> [Steve](http://romanticalgirl.tumblr.com/post/158418529164/chrisxchrisxchris-chris-evans-for-esquire-april)  
> [Bucky](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/C8P9KjsUwAE5kCp.jpg:large)


End file.
